On Saturday morning I woke up at 5 a.m. and headed to downtown Chicago where I stood outside in 3 degree weather with thousands of people in hopes of receiving a ticket to President Obama's farewell address.

My mom and I decided to drive to the city rather than take public transportation - a mistake. We sat at a standstill near the Martin Luther King Drive exit for almost two hours, less than a mile away from McCormick Place, where the tickets were being handed out. By the time we got within walking distance to the line - which stretched blocks and blocks at this point - so that my mom could drop me off while she attempted to find a parking spot, it was 8:15 a.m. Tickets were supposed to be handed out starting at 8, and with people having been allowed to line up as early as 6 a.m., and some people coming to the city the night before to camp out in surrounding areas, we knew that our chances at this point of receiving a ticket were not very high. We waited anyways.

People in line around us began to talk, some saying that they had heard that tickets had already run out, that people had been allowed into the building as early as 4 a.m., or that tickets were now being sold rather than handed out for free. Whatever the truth was, the fact that we were still three blocks away from the building at 8:30 hinted that our odds of receiving a ticket were not very good. Still, no one left the line. People were hopeful.

As I stood in the freezing temperatures, forced to speak slowly because my lips were becoming numb from the cold, I could hear cheers coming up from different points in the line. People were cheering for Obama: some people for news cameras, some people just for themselves. Then we started seeing people walking the opposite direction: ticket holders. Someone next to me called out, "Did you get tickets??" and the couple walking by nodded, smiling proudly. We all cheered for them: no hard feelings, just shared excitement and joy for someone else's opportunity.

As I observed the people around me who had chosen to wake up so early to stand outside on a Saturday morning in January, I was stunned by the diversity. Behind me was a man I had talked to briefly - a 20-something-year-old who had just gotten off the overnight shift as a security guard. In front of me was an elderly women and her middle-aged son. As I looked around more, I saw groups of teenagers, parents with their children bundled in strollers, sleepy college students, and senior citizens. Every demographic seemed to be represented. Age, class, race...no majority stood out. Honestly, it was refreshing.

At about 8:40, police officers came out and started calling out that there were no more tickets left. Some people stayed in line, hoping that the police were wrong, or just saying this to reduce the size of the crowd. Others began to scatter. As they walked away, I didn't hear the disappointed comments that I was expecting. Instead I heard, "Well, we tried!" I saw high fives, smiling faces and people waving goodbye to the strangers they had met in line.

I looked at my mom and sighed, as we shrugged and smiled before making our way back to our car to head home, empty-handed.

I'm not disappointed that I didn't get a ticket. While it would have been amazing to see President Obama speak, I think that waiting outside with my finger tips going numb gave me the closure I needed on the eight years of Obama's presidency. Standing in line surrounded by people who had little chance of success yet were filled with hope and joy and kindness reminded me of the platform that Barack Obama ran on and the message that he has continually sent to citizens: hope is important, hard work is always worth it, and we are stronger together.

Obama has been our president for as long as I have ever truly cared about politics (unfortunately I wasn't as "woke" before age 12), and he has never failed to encourage and inspire me. The kindness in his heart can be seen from miles away. Though he, like all humans, has made his fair share of mistakes and poor decisions, there is an unwavering passion and love for the people he serves and the work that he does that fills me with hope. It is that hope that kept me engaged and prevented me from giving up throughout all that our world has endured in the past eight years. It is that hope that made standing outside on a freezing winter morning not only bearable, but enjoyable for me and the thousands up people waiting with me. It is that hope that I, and so many others, will carry with us in the years to come, as we refuse to give up on fighting for our rights and loving everyone around us.

Saturday morning reminded me that there are so many people, more than I can imagine, who care, who are passionate, who are kind and who have been inspired by our 44th president.

Thank you Obama, for lighting a fire that isn't going out anytime soon.