I did not march in the first Women’s March because I was afraid.
I would be remiss if I did not mention the other reason I did not march (which is also my most unpopular opinion of last year): I did not think marching was a good idea.
I thought marching was fine, but not efficient. Why march when you could be spending all of the time on the phone with representatives or emailing congresspersons?
I spent the Women’s March of 2017 doing that: calling, emailing, signing petitions.
Honestly, I do not know that any of it helped. I don’t know that marching or doing all of the things you are supposed to do actually change the way our elected officials govern.
Stick with me. I know this is looking bleak.
Here is what I do know: Isolating yourself is unhealthy. It creates an unrealistic image of what you think the world is really like. Even if you surround yourself with people who have the same views as you, resigning yourself only to those people will make you think the rest of the world is burning down when it isn’t.
Your neighbors are good people.
I decided to march this year because I am uncertain of the effectiveness of all of my political efforts. I am uncertain of the efforts of those who govern.
But as I was marching today, I was certain that there are people out there that believe one of the greatest philosophical teachings of my youth:
I was wrong about marching. It does help. It may not effect change in the government immediately (oh, if it were so), but it restores faith in humanity, stokes the fire of hope, and encourages the use of posterboard, scented markers, and yarn.