At the Protest
In 2017 we got our cardio and trim figures by pounding pavement, strengthening triceps with signs raised over our heads.
We tanned and got the rose back in our cheeks with raised voices and sun on our shouting-in-mass.
We avoided dating services entirely, choosing instead to fall in love with any one of the thousands of men or women who endured traffic and inconvenience to stand up for the marginalized—we found that the odds were far better than lying about ourselves on the internet.
We eschewed playdates and instead kept our little ones occupied sitting on our shoulders, walking hand in hand to stand up together, because this world will be theirs one day, so why waste a single moment?
We took this time to learn about the cultures we ourselves had marginalized, because the shouting doesn’t do much good if you never stop to listen.
Sundays in 2017 I spent less time in pews with friends and more walking till my legs hurt with people I never would have met anywhere else.
I’m falling in love with these protests, with my city, and I’m tired of trying to hide it.