Yesterday felt like a turning point. Solidarity. Strength. The world, it would seem, is watching. I gave up my ticket to D.C. and I realized too late that it pretty much broke my heart not to be there. I thought I was okay with it, that it didn’t matter that much; turns out it mattered a lot. So on a whim, we headed to a local march. There were no speakers, and it was really more of a gathering than an actual march, but there were — by some estimates — over a thousand people with signs and banners and a great deal of heart.
What I know to be true is that I stand with those who marched yesterday, in countries and cities around the world. In D.C., in L.A., in Berlin, in London… I stand with those who want progress and freedom, who support social justice, who believe in science and facts and the importance of education. I do not for one minute think that this many people around the world are crybaby liberals who didn’t get their way. I think they are justifiably concerned, as I am, about the policies and threats of an unenlightened, uneducated man and his band of billionaires.
When my son greets me in the morning, he says “Well, we survived another day.” And I know that his words are a thin mask of his own concern. He is studying WWII in his social studies class and his eyes are open to the warning signs. I’m tired of those who believe they need to Trump-splain me. There’s really nothing that needs to be explained.
So, for now, I will bask in the beauty of those who marched through the streets of the world yesterday knowing that tomorrow the hard work begins again. I have my senators and congressional rep on speed dial, my local state reps too. This is not the time to sit quietly. Yesterday we marched. The strength, the hope, the love — it was out there. The words of negativity, of fear, of carnage, were silenced for a moment by a sea of pink. And that’s all right with me.