(Scroll down for great resources.) The photos of the march in New Delhi, India hit me the most. Thousands of women, inspired by the March on Washington, flooded the streets, holding signs that said, “I will go out!” They were demanding safe public spaces. They wanted to walk home without being harassed or raped.

Courage is contagious. A woman using her voice to stand up for what she believes inspires countless women to use their voices, around the world. Empowering women globally doesn’t just make for safer women or safer streets, it is the single best way to lift whole communities out of poverty.

This morning, our son and daughter asked, “What happens now, after the march?” Enough complaining and worrying. Enough bashing of people who voted for Trump. More listening. More purposeful action. It is easy to complain about our current president, but he has unified us to get out of our warm beds and do something in the name of equality, diversity, and inclusiveness.

On Saturday, January 21st, I felt the proudest I have about the United States since I immigrated here in 1989. I am a woman, an immigrant, a mother who believes that women’s rights are human rights. I felt privileged to walk with my daughter and so many beautiful women, men, and children in a sea of peaceful dissent. The mood was celebratory and hopeful. You could almost hear individuals say, Thank goodness, I am not alone.

Over six hundred marches stopped traffic in at least thirty countries. It is being called the largest multi-city march in American History. Maybe in Global history. In the USA, the numbers are still rolling in. Los Angeles: 750K, Washington: 500K, Chicago: 250K, Boston: 150K, Denver: 150K. Thousands worldwide gathered in solidarity in Buenos Aires, London, Berlin, Toronto, Paris, and of course, in New Delhi, India. We are definitely NOT alone!

I brought my eleven-year-old daughter to the march in Denver. We both went as the Statue of Liberty. She represents the America we love; a strong symbol of light and a refuge from oppression. I took a sharpie and wrote on my green dress: Puentes, Si! Paredes, No! (Bridges, yes! Walls, no!) I know that the rhetoric has mostly been about illegal immigrants, but the message from the White House is clear: We don’t need you, world. Our daughter and I stayed up late making torches out of plastic green bottles and orange crepe paper because we respectfully disagree.

Women around the world have always been fierce protectors of peace, justice and human rights. Just ask the women who marched to stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons. They’ll tell you that it works, that there is nothing more powerful than a group of women standing together.

I have marched before, but I have been complacent in the last decade. In 2003, I stood in the pouring rain with students and my friends, including Val Mullen and poet Grace Paley, to protest the war in Iraq. In 2004, my friend and I drove through the night with our nine-month old babies to march for women’s reproductive rights. But that was the last time I marched: over thirteen years ago. In 2009, Val was arrested protesting nuclear power with three of her octogenarian friends. When I saw Val the next day, she said, “The cops went easy on us. After all, we’re old enough to be their grandmothers. But, tell me, why is it that only women over 80 are out there, getting arrested?”

At the time, I had two small babies and was working full time. I could barely get my teeth brushed twice a day. But still, her question was a good one. Why wasn’t I doing what I could to make my voice heard? I lacked the creativity to imagine that there were a thousand ways to use my voice without leaving the house. As a mother, I cared deeply about keeping our children safe. But where was my voice after the school shooting in Sandy Hook in 2012? Or Arapahoe High school in 2013? Where was my voice after Ferguson in 2014?

My Canadian sister-in-law, Rachel, said over Christmas dinner in 2015, “I don’t know what’s more shocking, the news of these shootings, or the lack of people protesting. Why isn’t everyone in the streets, saying ENOUGH?” Again, I wondered, “Why wasn’t I using my voice?”

It is our right to assemble, to speak up and out for what we believe in, to express our grievances. Every time we make our voices heard, we inspire change.

On Saturday, before dawn, a friend showed up at my door, ready to march. She surprised me by wearing a Statue of Liberty costume as well and carrying a sign that said, “My friend’s life was saved by a Syrian immigrant” (The neurosurgeon who saved my life.) I was emotional all day. She was willing to take a stand for me. We were all willing to take a stand for each other. I loved the feeling of walking side by side with good friends and new friends. I remember walking next to a woman in her eighties and her husband in a wheelchair. I looked at her sign: “BElieve THEre is GOOD in the world.” I told her that I did believe and that I would be the good in the world. She smiled and hugged me and my daughter. She said, “I am so glad you’re here.” She reminded me of Val who challenged me, years ago, to take action.

Still, the runner in me couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a big road race and the goal was to win. I kept pushing through the crowds, weaving around strollers and finding gaps along the sides to get ahead. My friends had to pull me back; “We’re not trying to win the march,” they said, “just be in it!” But it’s tough to take the competitor out of me. I want to win this thing. Here’s how I think we CAN win this thing:

• Ignore what Trump says, watch what he does
• Listen to people who are different from you
• Focus on what you care about in your community
• Take purposeful action

What are my next steps? I have to focus on getting 100% strong, so most of my energy right now will be going into my healing. But having limited energy forces me to act in a way that is meaningful and sustainable, that is brave over perfect. That’s why complaining and worrying are OFF my list. Since issues of health are big on my mind, I am going to start by calling those five Republican senators whose numbers are below to ask them to ensure that Trump keeps his promise and replaces the ACA with something that allows pre-existing conditions. Then, I am going to slowly increase my work and support of Starfish-Her Infinite Impact because the empowerment of girls globally is work I find deeply fulfilling and will have profound ripple effects. Then I’ll start planning on marching in the People’s Climate March in April which will give me plenty of time to come up with a creative costume and sign. Finally, our daughter and I have dreams of bringing local women and girls together every couple of months for fun events (A “No-Talent” show? A girl-run restaurant in our house? A live concert?) and dedicate each night to a cause we care about. There might be tickets, donations, art projects, calls to congress, who knows? We’re still dreaming it up. The point is to remember to use our voices to come together creatively and imperfectly to take a stand. As for the women in India, thank you! You inspired me to get up and write this piece. Your courage is truly contagious. The resources below are just a beginning. I would love to hear what next steps you are taking and what tools are in your toolbox!

Love,

Susie (Share this! Be inclusive and pass it on. Then ask your friends to please go to susierinehart.com and sign-up for my weekly blog. xo)

Resources: (with huge thanks to inspiring friends Sue Halpern, Christina Cogswell, Matt Colaciello, Jean Weiss, and David & Rachelle Clements)

Ten Actions in 100 Days (The organizers behind the Women’s March suggest this call to action: easy, doable, powerful actions!)

What people don’t understand about the US working class (a Harvard Business Review article that helped me to see how the democrats missed their chance to reach so many americans)

https://www.indivisibleguide.com/ (Best practices for making congress listen)

https://dailyaction.org/ (You text the word “DAILY” to the number 228466 (or “ACTION”). After entering your ZIP code, you will receive one text message every workday about an issue that is important, based on where you live.)

350 Peoples Climate March (April 29, 2017. Gather to push the Paris Climate agreement forward. I don’t think there is a march in Denver. Does anyone want to organize one? Christina? 🙂

www.serve306.org (Take the pledge. Volunteer 306 hours over the next four years in your local community. This website is incredible; it helps to match you with local organizations doing great work.)

Beautifultrouble.org (Beautiful Trouble is a book, web toolbox and international network of artist-activist trainers whose mission is to make grassroots movements more creative and more effective.)

Racialequitytools.org (1,700 resources to help inspire change in your community)

Everyday-democracy.org (sign up for a weekly email that provides tools, tips for how to be a changemaker)

Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) (Keeps track of hate crimes and bullying. Gives analysis & reports of Trump appointees & nominees)

Starfish: (The organization that I am on the board of because it does an incredible job of unlocking and maximizing the potential of young women to lead transformational change globally.)

For those worried about ACA coverage for themselves and their families…. After hearing about the midnight repeal of the pre-existing conditions clause, a friend in Boston called Senator Warren’s office. Senator Warren’s staff member said what would help most would be to call the five Republican senators who have broken from the rest. It’s not too late! Call:

Senator Bob Corker – (202) 224-3344      

Senator Lisa Murkowski – (202) 224-6665

Senator Rob Portman – (202) 224-3353

Senator Susan Collins – (202) 224-2523

Senator Bill Cassidy – (202) 224-5824

Finally, there’s always this: Replace Every Picture of Trump with a Picture of a Cute Kitten

*****

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What direction do we want to move in? Tomorrow, in the United States, we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. I want to share with you two short videos and three questions as a quick lesson to do with your family. (Once a teacher, always a teacher 🙂

The two videos:

Martin Luther King Jr. “To The Mountaintop” speech (final 2 min)

Bobby Kennedy announcing the death of Martin Luther King Jr. (6 min-edited)

The questions: Who Am I? Why Am I? How am I doing at living my purpose? Or in other words…at aligning my values with my daily actions?

The story:

Every year on this day, we watch these two videos with our kids and try to answer the questions, thanks to my work with the Character Formation Project. The three questions are posed by this Project to thousands of school children repeatedly to help them graduate with an intrinsic sense of who they are and what their purpose is in life.

But before I show our kids the videos, I give a little background information.

I tell them that the first video is of King giving the final speech of his life on April 3, 1968 in Memphis, Tennessee. It has come to be known as the “To the Mountaintop” speech. I show them only the last two minutes of his words. The police were trying to stop the marches for equal rights by issuing injunctions (restraining orders) against the protesters. King had been on the road for many weeks and was really tired, but he was asked to get out of bed and come to speak to the protesters to inspire them to keep going. Watch carefully. At the end of his remarks, you can see him stumble into the arms of a friend from exhaustion. More importantly, listen carefully. King had received many death threats. Notice how clear he is, almost clairvoyantly so, about the future he helped to shape.

Then, to prepare them to answer the three questions themselves, we practice with King.

Note: This is NOT typical conversation stuff in our home. They roll their eyes. They squirm and try to run away. But I feed them nachos and make them stay focused for 10 minutes, tops.

Who was Martin Luther King Jr.?

Luckily, they’ve studied him in school, so they come up with this: “He was a leader of the civil rights movement who believed that all human beings have equal value.”

What do you think King saw as his purpose in life? (Purpose = the answer to the question Why am I?)

They say: “His purpose was to stop racism, to make sure all people had equal rights.”

How is he doing at living his purpose in this moment?

“Amazing!” They say. “He doesn’t let anything stop him.”

Then it’s time to answer the three questions about ourselves. The idea behind this process is that to grow character, it’s not enough to tell children to be honest or to be brave with words, posters, and stickers. You have to actually help them to walk in the shoes of others, feel the struggle, and answer tough questions about who they are and why they are. They can’t do it at first. It takes practice. Gradually, they’ll uncover their unique place in the world.

I go first, to give an example.

Who am I? I am a writer, a teacher, a mother.

Why am I? My purpose is to inspire others to find their purpose, write their story, and use their voice.

How am I doing (at living my purpose)? Pretty well, I think. I get distracted easily, though.

Next, it’s their turn. I remind them that they don’t need to know the answers. The point is just to try thinking about the questions. Their answers will change over time. And that’s good. The kids’ answers:

Who am I? H: I am a girl, a dancer, a singer, a student. C: I don’t know. A skater? A son, a brother, too.

Why am I? (What is my purpose?) H: To make people happy by performing. C: To make the world more fun, to spread curiosity and fun, I think.

How am I doing? H: Pretty good! C: I’m awesome!

Finally, we watch the second video (6 min). This is Bobby Kennedy telling the people in a black neighborhood in Indianapolis that Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. None of his aides wanted him to go; there was a real fear that the people would riot when they heard the news. He went anyway and gave a speech that is powerful and poignant. There were riots in every major city except Indianapolis.

“In this difficult time in the United States, it’s perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in…We can move toward greater polarization…or we can make an effort, as King did, to understand and replace violence…with an effort to understand, compassion, and love.”

–Bobby Kennedy, April, 1968.

The words of both of these men seem especially important right now. I tell the kids, it’s easy to think that the United States was created hundreds of years ago and so its creation is complete. But just as you are a work in progress, the country is a work in progress. And now, fifty years since Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy asked these questions, it feels right to ask them again: What kind of nation is the United States? What direction do we want to move in? How can you help it move in that direction?

I would love to hear your thoughts and positive visions!

With love and special thanks to Gloo & the Character Formation Project,

Susie

*****

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I had my first voice lesson on Friday. My teacher was trained as an opera singer, then lost her voice, and her career. “I learned a lot from my training, but I learned more from having to find my voice again,” she told me. We sat in her small office downtown. There wasn’t much in the room except for a piano and a giant jungle gym for cats. Her cat couldn’t have cared less about either. Instead, it sat at our feet, rubbing herself silly on my boots. (Did I tell you that I used to be terribly allergic to cats and now I’m not? One of the bizarre outcomes of my surgeries is that I don’t seem to be allergic to anything anymore: cats, feathers, dust, perfume. Nothing bothers me. I don’t recommend two craniotomies and a neck fusion as a solution to hay fever, but it is a nice bonus.) I digress. This is a story about our voices. And the moral is: ease over effort.

“I am hoping you can help me speak without pain,” I told the voice coach.

“What’s the problem?”

“I have to force air out to make a sound that people can hear. By the end of a five-minute conversation, I’m exhausted.”

“Oh honey, I’m going to have you singing in no time,” she responded.

“No, no, I don’t sing. I’m here to learn to talk,” I corrected her.

“Can you do this?” she ignored me and lip trilled like she was a baby blowing a raspberry.

I laughed and did my best lip trill which sounded like a very weak, unripe raspberry.

“Now, lip trill We Three Kings with me,” she said and moved to the piano.

I had no idea what this had to do with speaking clearly. But I was a little bit scared of her and did what she said.

I lip-trilled “We” perfectly, but “Three Kings” came out sounding like a sputtering motor with no fuel.

“There is damage to your tongue and vocal chords, but it doesn’t sound permanent. Your enemy is tension. Your voice is obstructed because you are straining to be heard and using muscle tension to force the sounds,” she said.

“If I relax, can I go home?” I asked.

“Again,” she said and moved an octave higher on the keyboard.

I tried. But I squeaked and sputtered and could not make it through the first phrase. Even the cat seemed to give up on me. He stopped nuzzling my leg.

“Hear that? You are straining to get the right sound. I want you to find your voice, not someone else’s. Forget about what you think is a good voice,” she stopped playing the piano and said to me directly.

There was that message again. Ease over effort. Brave over perfect. My voice, not someone else’s. Remember this?: “The opposite of joy is not sadness, but perfectionism. When you are straining to do all parts of your life so well with the hope that you will rise above confusion and criticism, that’s what I call perfectionism. The world doesn’t need you to be perfect, it just needs you to find the courage to contribute to the common good.” I wrote that. And yet I need to learn it again and again, apparently. It’s especially easy for me to forget around the holidays when everyone else seems to decorate and cook and bake cookies with ease, and I am trying to be someone I am not. 

“I don’t have enough air,” I protested.

“You have the same amount of air as a Met opera singer,” she said.

I took a full breath, and tried again. This time, I made it through the first verse on a single exhale.

“Girl, you have a BIG voice,” she smiled.

It was that flattery that landed me, a day later, at a public sing-a-long. And not just any sing-a-long, but a two and a half hour version of Handel’s Messiah. I was not raised in a religious or musical family. I knew nothing about the Messiah.

When I told my friend Christine, she said, “Most of us sing Jingle bells and Silent Night and call it a day. You have one voice lesson and sign up for the Messiah?”

We started at two in the afternoon. The church was packed with believers and non-believers, lovers of the Messiah, and others, like me, who thought Why not? The minute I sat down in the balcony of the church with its vaulted ceilings and listened to the eighty-person choir and thirty-person orchestra perform the overture, I knew I had made a big mistake. The soloists were holding notes for six, seven, eight bars and I couldn’t even hold the two-hundred-page vocal score; it was too heavy. I passed it to my friend Teresa who was raised Catholic and knew exactly how to hold that thing. She also knew when to stand, when to sit down, when to be silent, and when to sing.

The program let us know that there would be 53 songs, divided by a 20-minute intermission. The sun was shining high in the sky when we arrived. By the time we left, it was so dark out, I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face.

Teresa held the score and danced and sang her way through the first three songs. I tried to sing with the altos, but then the sopranos and tenors came in and I couldn’t hear the altos anymore. So then I just tried to sing whatever part I could hear. I squeaked high, I bottomed out low. I ran out of air singing the single word, “Rejoice!” My neighbors in the pew, a family with three young girls, gave me smiles full of pity. They knew every word and sang along beautifully. Except their little sister, who rolled around in the pew and threw her shoes on the ground. I gave up and sat down next to her. I mumbled something about being tired. She responded by patting my hand. Then she steamrolled over her mother’s lap to her father. I read the program.

The story behind this sing-a-along is worth telling; Handel wrote the Messiah in 1741 as a gift to the orphans of Dublin. Since then, it has been shared as a gift to the world. In our Colorado town, this event started thirty-four years ago by an air-and-space engineer. He was not a musician or a singer. In fact, he had no musical training, but he loved the Messiah. He pulled together a choir and an orchestra and then invited the public to sing along with them. He said in the program that it wasn’t enough to give a concert; he wanted to co-create the piece with an audience of willing voices.

My friend who plays second violin gave me my ticket. At intermission, he admitted that the first years of performances were rough.

“How do I bring you in?” the engineer-turned-conductor asked the string section.

“You count to three and we’ll come in on four,” they suggested. For years the engineer tried something, face-planted, got back up, asked for help, and kept going. Tonight was his 101th Messiah sing-a-long. If he could be so brave as to learn to be a conductor before thousands of people, I could lend my voice for a few hours.

So I tried to sing. I didn’t care what part; I even joined in with the baritones when I felt like it. I actually made some pretty decent sounds that weren’t like a duck dying. When I was lost, I hummed and looked at the beautiful light coming through the stained glass windows. I thought of the orphans Handel wrote this for over two hundred years ago, and how many voices have sung these notes. Then I noticed that if I only listened to one part, the tenors, say, it sounded quite average. What made it sound so good was the layering of all the parts and voices, as if what mattered was our diversity, not our ability to sing. The music wasn’t perfect, but it was something I could wrap both my arms around and love.  

When it was finally time to sing “Hallelujah!” I could feel the audience gearing up to sing loudly. I wasn’t sure I would have enough volume. I thought I might feel small, or left out. But I remembered the voice coach telling me in her office, “Take a full breath and think easy does it. If it feels full of effort, you’re doing it wrong. Think joy. Think yes!” I stood up tall and inhaled deeply. Then I heard loud sounds coming out of me. I was shocked by how much volume and fullness came from my vocal chords. I felt like celebrating. Which is exactly what we were doing–all of our separate voices joining together into one triumphant, joyful sound.

Love,

Susie

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*****

At three a.m, our ten-year-old daughter Hazel came into our room. I couldn’t see her in the dark, but I could hear her short, shallow breathing and her shaking voice.

“Mama, I can’t sleep. I had a really bad dream,” she said. Hazel was born with a huge imagination. It is a blessing and a curse. She can visualize forests where butterflies bind together to protect the woods. She can also picture bad men with bazookas blasting through our door. I opened my eyes. Hazel stood next to the bed in her monkey footsie pajamas that she has worn so much that her feet stick out the bottom. She looked smaller than her ten years. And although she is beyond the stage of being afraid of the dark, she still has nightmares. It’s also fair to say that a lot has been going on in her life lately.

“Can I sleep with you and Papa?” She begged.

Saying yes means that we have to make room for her, but also for her blanket, her giant stuffed- animal squid, and her brown bear. I normally try to corral them all back to her bed, and coax her to sing herself back to sleep. But that takes energy I just didn’t have.

“Hazel, you’re safe,” I said, not moving from our bed.

“But I can’t make the bad thoughts go away,” she sniffled. I knew what she meant. I often wake up, sweating, worrying about the future, unable to make bad thoughts go away.

“Nightmares make us feel powerless, paralyzed. But that doesn’t mean you are,” I said.

“But I don’t know what to do,” she said. She had me there. When I am spinning in worst-case-scenarios, I am too dizzy in darkness to imagine a good outcome. I forget that I am strong; I forget that difficult times challenge me to be better, to tap into my resiliency and the strength of my friends.

“Climb in. Tell me about your nightmare,” I gave in.

“There was a murderer. You were up ahead on the sidewalk.”

“Oh hon. It’s not real,” I said, hugging her tight.

“I couldn’t get to you to tell you that the bad guy was the one you would least expect. Then he took out a knife and tried to cut off my hand,” She said breathlessly.

“Hazel, when you’re asleep, you can’t do anything. But when you are awake, you are immensely capable. Remember? You walk to and from school on your own. You make up songs to stop bullying. You wouldn’t ever let someone cut off your hand.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said.

I wanted to help our daughter. But I desperately wanted to sleep. Then again, I had a pink squid with bulging eyeballs in my face and a girl with bad breath breathing on me. I couldn’t sleep. I remembered something I had read by sociologist Martha Beck. She said, “We’re most creative when we are relaxed and happy. Conversely, we can direct our minds into this state of calm by undertaking a creative task.”

“Hazel, let’s make something,” I said and got out of bed.

“Now?”

We dragged the whole gang of comfort blankets and stuffies into the living room and pulled out the butterfly mobile Hazel had been making for days from a craft kit.

I thought about this crazy world we live in. Then I thought about butterflies and imagination and if making something could genuinely redirect our troubled minds to quiet, calm waters. I don’t know. It’s not the only solution, but it felt like a cure to disempowerment and paralysis.

Hazel and I folded and glued pink and purple butterflies outlined in gold glitter. I couldn’t hold my head up; I kept leaning against the couch, half-asleep. But it felt good to make something together. Hazel’s breathing slowed and deepened. Her shoulders relaxed. She added golden jewels to the butterfly bodies and wings.

Eventually, we crawled back in bed. She immediately fell asleep. I lay awake, but felt calm. In my mind, I re-wrote the ending to Hazel’s nightmare to include butterflies binding together to protect her, until I fell asleep.

*****