This past year has been difficult for most of us, to say the least. The anger and tension are solid and real. I’ve been protesting since my early 20s, and at that time, I was frustrated that I even had to do such a thing. I was flabbergasted that we were having these arguments in the 1990s, but that was misguided. Just turn on the television and there is the world, up in flames with anger, fighting to have a voice that would otherwise be unheard. The glitter was gone, but there were still remnants of the party to locate in the seat cushions.
Then 45 was elected to the highest office in the land. I had to put my boots on again and go out there, with my horns down, not just for women’s rights but for those who were frightened of what this monster could do to them. Agendas were unveiled and layers were peeled away. Forty-five gave permission to those hiding behind white cloth, to reveal their racial faces, but also woke up those who had fallen off the protest wagon: like me.
We no longer have a choice; we must battle not only for ourselves but for those who have been beaten down for too long by a system that has ignored them for centuries. We are now forced to do better because our moral compass has gone eschew and we can no longer turn a blind eye to the wrongs of society. I decided to sharpen my horns for the Women’s March. It was empowering but felt empty in areas. It lacked the luster of previous events, and I attributed that to the overall feeling of the country, which was one of defeat and depression.
Like most, this election took a toll on me physically and emotionally. Just voting wasn’t enough. Calling Senators wasn’t enough. Marching wasn’t enough. I was depleted and disheartened. The glittery path I felt we were going down was turning to dirt and mush, the party was over. But I was still hoping to find remains of shimmer in the same way that I would after taking down the Christmas tree each year. But to no avail.
After a while, I had to turn the television off, I found myself depressed and anxious. I caught myself looking at pictures of puppies, kittens and rainbows just to reel myself back in, but the anger would not be suppressed. Until recently, when a conversation with a friend changed my perspective. “We are not doomed”, he said. We are unveiling what is wrong with our system and opening it up to change. Our country needed this; it’s the universe’s way of saying “enough”. We need 45 to shed light on what is wrong with us in order for us to focus on what needs to be done. We are a broken society but we can be fixed, so lets get out there, put our boots on and challenge this white, entitled society.
This country was founded on revolution, its time we dumped some tea back in the sea and show them what we are made of as a nation, and that we can do better. The fight is long, the boots are heavy, but horns are sharpened and ready to pick the glitter out of the rug.
