I caught an Uber at 7:15 in the morning to go to the house of a dear friend where we were meeting to have breakfast before we headed to the National Mall for the Women’s March on Washington. The Uber driver had already taken three carloads of women to the Mall before picking me up. I arrived at my friend’s house to a room full of women of all ages wearing pink and sparkles and sharing signs. We ate breakfast and headed to the Metro. We walked about a mile alongside a steady stream of people.

The young women I was with started to sing:

Release your inhibitions. Feel the rain on your skin. No one else can feel it for you. Only you can let it in. No one else, no one else. Can speak the words on your lips. Drench yourself in words unspoken. Live your life with arms wide open. Today is where your book begins. The rest is still unwritten. (Natasha Bettingfield, Unwrittten)

I joined in the singing. The energy felt like an overture that artfully sets the scene for an opera in which the stage of our world was about to have its heart broken open. The song, and all the people singing, told a story of anticipation and fire.

The density of the crowd at the station signaled the magnitude of the day. We were experiencing history. The day before, I had boarded a plane in Miami. The majority of the people on the plane were clad in pink knit hats and carried signs. I knew then the March was going to be a big deal, but I had no idea just how big it would be until we descended the escalator into a sea of pink love. There was little room to breathe and the soundtrack to the moment was train announcements, and “Excuse me,” “Please,” and “Thank you.” This was different from the typical daily crowded commute I had experienced years before.

We arrived on the National Mall and the gathering grew, and grew, and grew. We made our way slowly and steadily through the crowd. Reading signs. Seeing faces. Drinking in the enormity of the whole thing. The clouds that had covered my heart for months were lifting. Old clouds that carried a weight beyond politics. Morning was breaking before me. That is the only way I can describe it. I thought about a global morning at that moment. I thought of dawn. I thought of promise. Darkness had given way. I had been given back my morning. We had been given back our morning. Despair, violence, silence, fear, and hatred had no place there.

We made our way around and through. We held hands to keep from being separated. We chanted. We marched. We carried signs. We sang. We stood in front of the Washington Monument. The March ended at the White House. We stood on the White House lawn. I felt the earth beneath my feet. Soft yet solid. The grass. The soil. All the way down to the earth’s core something seemed to be offering a prayer, and the prayer was being heard by millions. The prayer was for peace. The prayer was for justice. The prayer was for love.

The March showed us the power of a majority.

It has been a few years ago, now. We know the attack on rights and laws that has occurred since that day. The March offered something else, then. It offers something else, now. The March showed us the enormous power we have when we come together — power that propelled large numbers of women to run for and win public office. That is part of the story. The March showed us what a majority really looks like. Our strength was in the size of our number of people not in the in the size of our guns. This is particularly important when a bi-product of isolation and chaos can be despair and cruelty. This is also important when a vocal small minority can steer action against the greater good. Large majorities support sensible gun control and access to healthcare, yet powerful minorities allow unpopular and dangerous policies to remain unchanged. That is part of the story. The March showed us what the search for a more perfect union looks like. Peaceful people demanding to be heard. Walking together toward a better world. Not accepting that this is all there is.

We stand on the shoulders.

The march felt historic. I marched with a friend who reminded me of the significance of the streets on which we walked. Suffrage. Civil Rights. Environmental Justice. Indigenous People’s Rights. To name just a few. Many voices cry out right now across our country and our world. Many voices had been heard on these streets before. Voices were being heard at this March, too. These streets had given birth to many things, and this day was no different. I felt honored as we marched. I was not alone marching there. I was bolstered by the past, surrounded by the present, and praying for the future. Standing on shoulders to protect access to healthcare. Standing on shoulders to protect the rights of immigrants. Standing on shoulders to protect voting rights. Standing on shoulders to protect our environment.

Dissent is sacred.

We have a right to dissent. We have a responsibility to dissent. We must not silence dissent simply because we fear conflict or are afraid to question power. Dissent can be silenced through ridicule. Dissent can be silenced through falsehoods. Dissent can be silenced through violence. Dissent can be silenced through despair. We must not let that happen. Attacks on the rule of law and the free press are attacks on dissent. We must peacefully call out our elected leaders when we disagree. We must practice dissent as a weapon against tyranny. We must celebrate dissent as the air democracy breathes. We must inform dissent with truth and understanding.

Women must lead.

The March made it clear to me that women must lead. We must lead wherever we are. We must lead governments. We must lead universities. We must lead companies. We must lead organizations. We must lead as we are called. We must imagine. We must create. We must build. Our future depends on it. To say this is not anti-male. It is pro-table with more voices. It is pro-daring greatly from inside the arena. It is pro-half of the sky. It is pro-bigger tool box. It is pro-big challenges in need of big solutions. This is vital in a world that will depend on new thought paradigms, inclusive notions of governance built on equity, and a fundamental belief in a common humanity like the world has never known. That is why women must lead.

Love is Love. Love is Love. Love is Love.

One million people gathered in love was truly powerful. The world shook a bit that day. That idea is hard for some people to grasp. People who cling to definitions of power based on domination and scarcity can’t understand. People who defend their rights not believing all rights are interdependent can’t understand. People who make decisions based on today not tomorrow can’t understand. The March grew from love. Love of civil rights, human rights, health, safety, and future generations. The March grew from a desire to be heard speaking a language of resistance against norms we won’t accept. The March grew from the desire to affirm science, truth, and justice. The March grew from love. There is so much work to do. This is a time for love.

Morning and the Women’s March.

Right after college I was in the AmeriCorps. We took a pledge at the beginning of our term of service. The pledge reads:

I will get things done for America — to make our people safer, smarter, and healthier. I will bring Americans together to strengthen our communities. Faced with apathy, I will take action. Faced with conflict, I will seek common ground. Faced with adversity, I will persevere. I will carry this commitment with me this year and beyond. I am an AmeriCorps member, and I will get things done.

That was many years ago, but I carry it with me like it was yesterday. These are the times to get things done. Protect the most vulnerable. Give time, talent, and treasure. Be a builder and creator in this world. Possibility and hope washed over me at the Women’s March. Cynicism does not know the morning. Apathy does not know the morning. Fear does not know the morning. Lets make this a new morning.