Yesterday I was weary.
I sat in the booth of a Denny’s unsuccessfully avoiding the inauguration coverage being broadcast on the restaurant TVs.
The Denny’s was part of a shoddy casino/hotel in Jean, Nevada. A town so small that when you search “food” in Google maps, the only other thing that appears is a Shell station. Just outside the restaurant, the empty casino floor glittered and flashed. It felt bizarre and chintzy at 8 o’clock in the morning.
My eyes flitted back to the television again. The oaths were about to begin. As I studied the faces of the new administration, the phrase, “the banality of evil,” came to mind. Craig suggested mentally placing The Imperial March under the proceedings. That helped.
We piled back into the car, trashed by four days of travel. I didn’t bother changing or showering for day five. Craig drove us through four hours of heavy rain as I scrolled my feeds, witnessing the fear and anger of my friends. Taking small, wry pleasure in the low turnout and neo-nazi punches.
We arrived in Los Angeles Friday afternoon. I felt heavy with the weight of our life-changing, cross-country decision, and small in our empty, resonant apartment, our moving truck still a few days out. I sank onto the air mattress -our only piece of furniture- and cried.
But that was yesterday.
Today I woke up to clear skies, my partner sleeping beside me, and our cat curled up at our feet. We walked up Sunset Blvd in the sunshine to get coffee. I saw a woman walking two blocks ahead of us wearing gold sparkly pants and carrying a sign that read, “Keep Abortion Legal”.
We arrived at the coffee shop and stood in a line of people with knit hats and slogan-ed tee-shirts. We sat at the window and watched as more and more protestors passed by on their way downtown. We scrolled our feeds and compared aerial views of the marches taking place worldwide. “Here’s London.” “Oh, wow, Bangkok!” “Antartica?!” We cackled at the side-by-side comparisons of the inauguration and the march at the DC mall.
Though part of me wishes I had been marching today, another part of me is grateful to be able to witness it from afar. It was astonishing to see on a global level. I saw the faces of my friends, joining with hundreds of thousands across the literal globe. I saw the acknowledgement of oppressions across experience. I saw power and hope. And I felt something I sometimes struggle to feel: conviction. I often couch my opinions in caveats and qualifications. This is occasionally useful, but often diluting.
Today I felt rooted in this fight. I know that it is worth fighting. Today, in the corner of a little LA coffee shop, I felt connected not only to those in my new city - the coastal “elites”- but also to those rising up in Grand Rapids, in Lansing, in Austin, in Nashville, and on and on and on.
I sat with this conviction, committing it to memory for the days when I don’t want to fight. When I start to get comfortable. When I want to let other people do the work.
The timing of our cross-country move was not purposeful, but it feels significant. We landed in this new city as the country enters this new stage. I don’t know how these two trajectories will align yet, but Day One was one hell of a launch.
