This last weekend I attended and marched in the Seattle Women’s March. I’ve never been to any kind of protest or any event of this scale. Estimates are that 130,000 people marched in Seattle alone with about 3 million people marching nationwide. I wanted to write up my feelings on the event.

I heard about the march a day or two before it happened. I decided it would be worth the effort to head into town with my camera to see the crowd and show my support of the issues they are fighting for. When I said I was “going” to the Facebook event, the word got out and a few people wished me safety or gave a simple “like” in support. I wasn’t scared. Nothing about this march felt radical, and frankly Seattle is safely behind the political front lines. I checked the directions and determined the route I would take, then set some alarms to make sure I would wake up on time.

There was a sizable line at the first bus stop – but not as large as the line I saw for a football game the first weekend I went into town – and I cheerfully took my spot at the end. Two buses arrived and I packed into the second one. I got off a few stops later planning on transferring to a bus that would take me directly to the park where people were rallying before the march. But the crowd at the closest stop for that bus discouraged me a bit. Someone else decided to start walking to earlier stops along the route, hoping to find more empty buses earlier on, and I joined her. We made it all the way to the first stop for that bus and saw the line went around the corner twice.

By this time I figured it would be too late to wait in line for the bus and get to the park on time, so I found a different bus to take me to a spot later on in the march. The crowd for that stop felt pretty normal and I was able to get on a bus pretty quickly. It dropped us off about halfway through the march and I headed for an intersection where I knew I could join in once they arrived. Around noon the front of the march reached us and, with just a little bit of confusion, I waded into the throng and began walking with everyone.

By this point I had had a few cordial chats with other people trying to make it to the march, and I had read the nearby signs people were holding. And I had realized just how individual the people were. Each person had their own set of reasons for coming together, whether it was environmentalism, feminism, racial equality, or simply because they didn’t like Trump. By organizing as a “silent” march, the focus was put on the individual signs, and people were free to say anything they wanted without having to yell louder than anyone else.

Everyone seemed happy, even the cops. People even cheered for the police as they cleared the road ahead of the marchers. I heard news that there were no arrests made in (m)any of the major marches.

I wouldn’t join a protest march that was only anti-Trump, or pro-choice, or in retaliation to any particular statement. But a march for social, cultural, and political equality for all? That I’ll get behind.

I went because I wanted to witness some piece of history. I wanted to lend what little support I could to those who are hurt or threatened by the statements of our new President. I wanted to get out of my house and experience the real world.

I care more about the unity of this country than which political party has a majority. I don’t see the “other side” as evil. I want all sides to be able to come together as friends, not enemies. Everyone is just trying to make the world a better place in their own way. Respectful compromise is the way to accomplish this. But we’ve separated ourselves from each other. We’ve stopped trying to care about the people on the other side of the fence. We’re more concerned with being right than being good. I know I make mistakes living up to this ideal, but I hope in the coming years we all can get just a little bit better at putting down our pride and seeing others for who they really are.