This is perhaps one of the most intuitive decisions I have made in my life. My friend texted “I am marching in D.C. on January 21. Are you coming with me?” “Yes.” That was it–all the thinking I did on the matter until this week. Now I am thinking 24/7. I am having bad dreams. I can’t sleep.
When I told my cousin about the bad dreams, she said “Get them out of your body.” She told me to write them down and burn them. You are “feeling the fear in the world.”
That feels so true. Do you feel that heaviness too? When I wake up, when I drive, when I put on my coat. My heart beats in my throat with an extra thump or two. I can’t remember what to attach the feeling to–My marriage? My work? Dad’s Alzheimer’s? The new President? My brain sifts through the cabinet–where do I file this feeling? I can’t properly tuck it away. Its like trying to file confetti.
I was a little irritated with my mom all day today. I thought, “She doesn’t get it.” At 9:45 p.m., however, she proved me entirely wrong. I should have known. “Be safe and enjoy your time in D.C. I will be thinking of you and watching for you on TV.” I rolled my eyes and laughed–like I’ve done since age 12. And then she said so earnestly, “I would have liked to have done that when I was your age. I love you.”
I am full of the love of generations of women. I was raised in this lifetime and maybe many before by women who gather when gathering is needed. I am going to Washington to resist anger and hatred. I am going to amplify our human rights. I am going for the world my boys will know as men. I am going with women I love. I expect to run into neighbors, former students and old college friends. I expect to hold hands of strangers, laugh, talk, roar and feel mighty. This is how we face the next four years: we participate.
Why am I going to protest? I am not going to Washington to protest. I am going to govern.