I was looking for a movie at YouTube when the ad popped up: Kamala Harris’s Concession Speech Live.

I clicked on the video. Well, the speech was “live” in the sense that I was 45 minutes early. That is the way with concession speeches. No one ever knows exactly what time the candidate will appear.

It had been a strange, sad day. I took notes: it’s a habit. I desultorily watched the audience chatting, turning their heads to see what was happening behind them, occasionally waving small flags, and taking photographs. One vivacious man talked with such animation that I felt I knew him, and he did look vaguely familiar, but I did not know him and I lost sight of him. Meanwhile, on the stage, the black-clad security people walked back and forth and techies checked microphones. A couple of times, black-clad women came out to adjust the flags that were already perfectly arranged in two rows and on either side of the door, forming a corridor through which Harris would walk on to the stage.

I remember a couple of phrases from the background music lyrics: “It was all a dream” and “I never thought it could happen.”

It had been a lovely dream.

And today we derealized.

There was a mass derealization.

Harris came out smiling, a bit wanly, of course, less radiantly than usual, but she projected strength. Her message was one of encouragement and hope.

Here are two quotes from her speech: “We will engage in a peaceful transfer of power” and “While I concede this election, I do not concede the fight that fueled the campaign.”

She reminded us that the work of the campaign would carry over into the years to come. And she said she had no regrets about the way they handled the campaign. (With class and grace.)

I never cry over politics, but my notes were tear-stained.