What's KP Thinking?

I was there.

I awoke at 4 am. Grabbed my suitcase and kissed my daughter and son good-bye on their sleeping heads as I headed out. This trip was as much for them as it was for me.  I drove thru darkness and torrential rain to collect 3 friends on my way to the airport. My car was filled with damp morning air and anticipation. My phone was filled with messages of encouragement, love, and appreciation from friends near and far.

I was there.

I flew 3,000 miles across this great country of ours. I was thanked by the flight crew for what I was about to do. I met new friends, one row over, and we bonded over all-to-common stories of women’s struggles. I saw pink hats. I high-fived women as I walked thru the aisle. The gravity of where we were going was dawning on me like the sun rising that very morning.

I was there.

I chatted with my taxi driver on the drive from the airport to the hotel in D.C who told me the inauguration traffic was minimal that day. He said it was a slow day for him. He said in 2008, at Obama’s inauguration, the traffic was much busier, the crowds were much larger.

I was there.

I checked into an over-sold hotel 1 hour outside of D.C. I met up with 15 women, from 5 different states. We introduced ourselves through mutual acquaintances. Instant friends. We passed out signs, made plans to meet in the morning. We hugged each other and went to bed.

I was there.

I headed out the next morning. My stomach full of butterflies and purpose. I entered a crowded Metro station at 8:00 AM. I saw more signs. More pink hats. I felt the underlying energy of the morning bubble to the surface. I squished onto an over-crowded train car. A sea of smiling women holding signs. Holding hope.

I was there.

I got off the train almost 2 hours later. I was 9 blocks from the start of the march. I used a port-a-potty and heard a woman shout into the crowd, “I need a tampon”. I saw 3 women offer her one. I watched a lactating mom relieve her swollen boobs filled with milk into the shrubs—her baby at home. We walked 2 blocks straight into a wall of women. It’s as far as we got.

I was there.

I was close enough to a TV screen and a loud-speaker to hear every word of the rally. From the first drum beat to the last “thank you for being here”. I witnessed the expressions of awe and amazement on every speaker’s face as they climbed onto that stage and looked out at the masses. I heard their determination, their drive, their passion pour out with every word, every song, poem, and rally cry.

I was there.

I watched my friend’s faces. I read their expressions. I saw their tears. I heard their chants. I was surrounded by thousands of strangers–whose expressions, tears, and chants also enveloped me. We all held hands and clapped and cheered. We were a crowd of half a million human beings, but we were one.

 I was there.

For 5 hours we stood together, this crowd and I. Each and every individual was full of love–oozing love into the air. You could practically see it, it was that substantial. A crowd which hushed when each speaker spoke. A crowd which politely parted when a wheelchair needed through. A crowd which offered snacks to one another. A crowd with zero violence, zero drugs, zero angst. A crowd with signs that touted love, equality, decency, and fairness. A crowd of strangers that felt like family.

I was there.

I was forever changed that day. I had never felt unity until January 21, 2017. I didn’t truly know the good that exists in this world until I saw it for myself. I didn’t realize the power of love until I saw it floating thru the air. I didn’t understand that hope could bring together a nation and the world. These realizations now guide me–push me forward. Though I am no longer physically at the march, though my feet are back on California soil, a part of me will never leave D.C. That day is forever tucked deeply in my heart, quietly chanting in my head, and gently guiding me forward. Because…

I was there.