I’ve walked down the National Mall and the surrounding streets many times in my life. As a kid, my mom regularly took me to the Smithsonian museums; the Museum of Natural History with the giant elephant in its atrium was always my favorite. I once ran a 5k that looped around the tidal basin spotted with spring cherry blossom trees and in the summer my boyfriend and I lounged in the botanical gardens listening to jazz. I’ve walked down Independence Avenue and the surrounding, patriotically-named streets countless times and never thought of them as more than relics of an old city that was historically significant but didn't have much bearing on my present.
Now, however, I know that when I go to the mall again, I won’t be able to look at it without imagining that awe-inspiring sea of pink hats. I’ll again feel that palpable energy that was passionate, empowering and united. All of those people crammed together, breathing together, walking, chanting, being together made those streets feel alive in the way for which they were intended. I looked around and I felt proud of my city. Because what I saw was what I see every day on the metro. It's what I really missed when I was living in Korea’s noticeably homogenous society. To me, that beautiful mix of ages, races, backgrounds, orientations, causes and customized pussy cat hats is as American as it gets. Yesterday wasn’t without its imperfections. We couldn’t (technically) march and there were and still are concerns about exactly who the movement represents and if it does so equally. But it was a start. There's much to be done and there's always more to learn. I faced an unexpected imperfection in my own experience. As much as I wanted to be that woman proudly dancing around in the vagina hat leading chants and waving a clever, home-made sign I couldn’t get past my fear of feeling trapped by the ever-growing crowd. But even though I was scared, I’m happy I went. It made it very clear to me what will be required of us in the coming days, months and years. This may turn out to be the challenge of our lifetime and for me, yesterday was a taste of what it means to be truly brave. I take comfort that when I’m not sure what to do next or how to react in the face of overwhelming ugliness, I can take a walk down Independence Avenue and be reminded that in this same place on January 22, 2017, half a million people were not afraid.
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