For the third time in this second Trump administration, the nation protested. I attended the downtown San Diego protest, as I have the other 2. The first one I was still with my Ex and we went together; the last two, I have gone solo.
Last time, my first solo, brought me to tears. It took place shortly after he (finally) moved out and I was still fresh in the heartbreak. By turns, I was also more than a little furious that he had left me alone in this shitshow of a Trump-run USA. Even when things were difficult, just knowing I wasn’t alone made a difference; now, I was alone. At No Kings 2, I saw so many couples, leaning on each other emotionally. I was surrounded by people, and yet so very alone. I ached, in that sea of people. Luckily, dark sunglasses hide tears and yelling chants hides breaks in the voice. I don’t think I spoke directly to anyone. Somehow, I couldn’t.
Yesterday, again, I was solo. However, over the months since NK2, I had done a lot of healing so I wasn’t thinking about him… well, not much. Instead, I was happily looking at people and their signs, giving out compliments and small talk. Just being glad I could participate. I was proud of my fellow San Diegans.
Shortly after arriving at the start location, on the side of the county building that had been dedicated by FDR, and in a sea of people, I ran into a neighbor! She and her partner (wife?) were there with friends (mostly, recently retired science teachers) and they encouraged me to join them. I did for a while, until the sun got to be too much for me (I need to be in the shade more), but while with them I so appreciated being with a group of opinionated and smart women.
Both before and after that, I talked to strangers. I laughed with others waiting at crosswalks, walking to the location from where I parked my Triumph. I shared standing spots and laughs with a couple of old queer punks and a different, mixed-race group of slightly younger gay men (we all had the sense to wait in the shade). We were all of the same tribe, no matter how different our lives may be.
It was a very different experience than the last. When I did think of the Ex, it was to wonder if he had bothered to go to a march, wherever he was. My money is on probably not, but it’s close because he did care about what was happening in the USA. But he was also in a very dark place when he left, so maybe he just couldn’t join the protests. So, I sent him good thoughts then got on with my own participation, being present with the crowd around me.
Later, as I made my way back to my motorcycle for the ride home, it hit me: while once again I was solo, I was so not alone.