Where do I begin? More importantly, how do I begin? I guess I'll take my own advice and stop worrying about the how and just get started on the what. I hope you read this, regardless of your politics. I hope you read this, even if it pisses you off and makes you uncomfortable. But if you don't read any further, I understand.
I am not an activist. I am not a feminist. I am not a protestor. In spite of that, this past weekend, I attended the Women's March on Washington in Washington, D.C. These are some of my thoughts and experiences.
(I didn't expect this to be such a struggle to write. I seem to have lost the ability to channel the right words from that Higher Place inside of myself. But, it is what it is, and this is the best I have to give.)
Once I decided to go to Washington, D.C., I immediately began to experience resistance from several people close to me and from many who had rarely interacted with me at all on social media. Some were surprising, some not so much. The deafening silence from a few was possibly the hardest to take. No one seemed to understand why I was going. What did I hope to accomplish? To be perfectly honest, I wasn't exactly sure why it was so important to me. All I knew was that I felt the call, and I answered it. For me, it wasn't about protesting against Donald Trump, it was about tossing my pebble and creating a ripple of hope in the river of despair we all seem to be drowning in lately. I wanted to do something rather than sit back and complain about it.
I am proud of myself for getting involved. I am proud of the millions who joined with me in solidarity that day. I am overwhelmed by the positive energy that surrounded us all. I could feel the shift in energy as we each moved in the same direction, with differing but similar intentions, redirecting the current that has carried us for way too long. If you put enough pebbles in a river, eventually the direction must change. There is no other way. I am honored to be one of those pebbles.
Many were quick to make judgments regarding the intentions of the millions, by focusing on the actions of a few, and that makes me sad. Hurtful, negative and downright mean things have been said about those of us who made history that day. Whether you attended the march in Washington, D.C, or a sister march in another city; whether you simply offered support or sent good energy and prayers to those of us in the streets, just know you were a part of what we all did. That is what will make the history books, not the negativity that arose from the discomfort of those who resented feeling our disruption in their flow. We made a difference, and we are not done.
And now, I'll finish with a couple of stories, showcasing the many random acts of kindness we experienced that day. These are just two.
Robert
When we arrived at the train station, excited and ready to head to the march, we were met by thousands of others all waiting for the same thing. We expected to experience large crowds when we arrived in Washington, D.C., but apparently we were a bit naïve about what public transportation would be like. I am claustrophobic in crowds. I am also an introvert who can feel everyone's energy. Crowds terrify me and often cause a panic attack, especially when I am in the middle of a sea of people with nowhere to go. I knew I would just have to suck it up and remember to breathe. I hoped that would be enough. By the time, we had stood for an hour and a half, moving only a few feet, we knew we needed to explore other options if we were going to make it for any part of the march.
We contacted Uber and requested a ride. Surprisingly, we were told to be at the meeting spot in just 8 short minutes! We walked towards the GPS dot which showed us where to find our driver, but he was nowhere to be found. Despite talking to him on the phone, trying to explain where we were standing, we were unable to locate each other. He finally gave up and cancelled on us. Four or five drivers later, all with the same results, we finally met Robert. Robert was an Uber driver waiting patiently to be dispatched with a ride. He was kind enough to get on the phone with our most current driver who was driving around unable to locate us. The frustration was mounting. Finally, Robert was able to determine the problem. The drivers were arriving on the other side of the train station, which we couldn't get to because of the sea of people.
He said, "Get in! I'm taking you to your driver." He wouldn't take no for an answer. So we climbed in and he took us on a high speed drive, more than a couple of miles around in a big circle, to the other side of the train tracks. Meanwhile, we were on the phone with our other driver begging him not to leave us as the others had done. Finally! We located Mauricio, and were on our way, thanks to the random kindness of Robert who took time out of his day to do us an unexpected favor.
Mauricio
Mauricio drove us to the march. I sat in the front seat, while Page and Anne sat in the back. That left me responsible to be the one to make small talk with this person I didn't know. That, right there folks, is my kryptonite. But for some reason, I began asking him all kinds of questions about his life. Possibly, too many questions, because he missed our exit and got us hopelessly lost for a short time. It turns out Mauricio was an immigrant from El Salvador. He had come to this country because of the opportunities that did not exist in his country: the opportunity to have a job - any job, the opportunity to raise his family in a safe environment, and the opportunity to vote for a president. All of these things do not exist in his country. It put some things in perspective. America is already great, and in spite of the current situation, we should all remain grateful. He asked why we did not support Donald Trump. I told him there were several reasons, but the first was that he did not seem to have the best interest of women at heart. And another was that he didn't support the rights of immigrants to be in our country.
Mauricio said, "He wants to send us all home."
I responded, "We will march for you."
He smiled, and said, "I will pray for you."
Thank you, Mauricio. Your prayers worked. I hope we have done the same for you.
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