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The Inaugural Wind
Trump punched us all in the mouth four years ago. Some of us got it in the back of the head. Others had a busted nose. None of us, red or blue, will recover for a decade. The sustained wind that started on election day four years ago has us in a constant forward lean, unable to hear much of the danger that is being screamed in our face just steps ahead. With tens of millions of social media followers, there will be no letup for many years to come.
The 2016 election result made me sick. I felt betrayed by friends and family who found redemption in this man. I stopped talking to them. I wanted to march, scream, and wail about the injustice. I wanted to grab Hillary by the shoulders and shake her for those maddening gaffs. I wanted to do so much more to the red candidate.
Within days marches were planned. Nothing would stop me from attending. In New York City, the March for Women was on January 21st — a day after the inauguration. It is unfortunate he was sworn in on my birthday. I wanted nothing to do with him.
We took a jam-packed train filled with chanting, screaming protestors into Grand Central Station in New York City. It was Saturday and the doors opened to a packed platform. People stood shoulder to shoulder, huddled on sidewalks and in the middle of the street to share in a moment of almost universal disbelief. We had to get to the United Nations to…
