I wasn't feeling great when I woke up Saturday morning. I had a list of things to do that didn't include marching in the cold, wet weather and leaving my cozy bed. Sure, I could have skipped out, knowing how many people would be there in my stead, but thankfully, my belief in democracy outweighs my comfort.

I met my sister in law, her husband, and their good friends for an early breakfast and a ride on the MAX to Union Station. Departing the line, we walked to the North Park blocks to find the march was well underway. Children, mothers, fathers, grandparents, teens, drummers, activists, speakers, you name it; a huge community of people bringing awareness and hope for change were laden with signs and their voices.

I was at school when our high school students left their classrooms to activate their voices. The strength of their words and the stillness of their hearts while they honored all those who have died was beyond measure.

Being part of that moment gave me perspective. 

I never feared for my life at school. 

I worried about friendships and good grades, how well I would perform in my dance routine in front of the school on Friday night, if I had enough change in my pocket for the vending machine. Mundane things. 

Now, we march and raise our voices to say, "enough"!