My eyes popped open in the middle of the night recently, a sense of dread washing over me. Something was amiss.

It was as if my ancestors had reached down and tapped me on my shoulder. Hard.

“Wake up!”

It was in those predawn hours that I remembered my mail-in ballot to vote in Tuesday’s presidential election was halfway across the country. And worse, I would not be back home by Election Day to vote in person.

I’ve been bouncing around the country for both work and pleasure in recent weeks. Nevada. Ohio. New York. Indiana. I’ll be in Washington, D.C., next.

As I’ve previously explained, voting isn’t a choice for me. I see it as my civic and moral duty. I was taught to always vote because there was a time – not too long ago – when Black people were prohibited from doing so or illegally challenged at the polls.

Travel or not, I had to fix this. I jumped into action, first researching the internet about the absentee voting rules in my county. I discovered I could get another one-time mail-in ballot sent to me. I tried to request it online but kept getting booted out of the portal.

Let’s go old-school, I thought, and I picked up my phone. I called my county clerk’s office to request a new ballot. The employee asked for my information to ensure my identity and said they would send my provisional mail-in ballot to my temporary address. I waited a week. It never arrived.

I called again, this time spending over an hour explaining my plight. It was Oct. 29, the last day to request a replacement ballot. I was beyond stressed, especially because I was told three times that I didn’t have any options to get a new ballot in time for........

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