My mom has a story for everything. She can tell you about working at a bar in Minneapolis, when a group of law school students came flooding in, telling her that OJ Simpson was about to receive his sentence and that they needed to watch it on TV. My mom can tell you about how she watched the Challenger explode when she was in the middle of class as a junior in high school. She can tell you about the day she found out that Kurt Cobain committed suicide, how she was living in the same town that Jeffrey Dahmer was when he was arrested, and a myriad of other tales of where she was when notable things happened.

One day, I'll be able to tell the story of where I was when the Women's Marches were happening throughout the world on January 21st, 2017. I was in the fray marching too.

The day after the election, on November 10th, was when my mom asked me if I wanted to march. Less than 24 hours after America elected its new president, marches were being organized, the biggest being in our nation's capital. While the marches wouldn't be happening for another two months, I knew I would be there. Though my feelings of helplessness and despair about the state of our nation wouldn't be erased by walking in a crowd, I was ready to stand with and support the millions of women and others who felt threatened by the change in administration.

Flash forward a few months, and it was time to mobilize. I woke up early to march, piling into a car with my mom and stepmom, and we journeyed downtown, unsure of what we were (literally) walking into, but ready nonetheless. The minute we stepped out of our car, around half a mile from Civic Center Park, where the main speakers and rallying took place, we could see swarms of people, some adorned with pink knitted hats with cat ears, a symbol of the march, the majority of people holding signs and excitedly walking together. It was cold, so people were bundled up, but their rosy cheeks were an even bigger indicator of their excitement and readiness.

When we actually got to where the march took place, I was overwhelmed, to say the least. I'm not a fan of crowds, and I often feel anxious and claustrophobic in them, but this time was different. I felt safe, despite being around hundreds of thousands of people. There were people everywhere I looked, kind, compassionate, tough as hell people who would not settle for the hands they could be dealt.

The signs were innumerable. So many had quotes from famous women, like Maya Angelou or Eleanor Roosevelt. Hundreds had references to Princess Leia and the dearly departed Carrie Fisher. Others had quotes from Hamilton, historical references, or famous slogans, but they all had one common factor: they all cared. The signs tool time and dedication, and emphasized the fact that what they were doing, what we were ll doing, made a difference.

The most heartening part of the march was that, amongst the majority of women, there were so many men there too. Many men were adorning their own hats or toting signs (the best was "I'm here to support my woman, otherwise I would be skiing"), and you could see the love and support they carried with them. Women's right are human rights, and the supportive and compassionate men at the march embodied that idea. When two of my friends told me that they were attending, with their friends and girlfriends, it made my heart feel immensely full. It felt like, even just for a few hours, that we could achieve a world with equality and love and tolerance for everyone.

There were so many children. So many kids there that, one day, will tell stories of where they were when women were marching, that they were sitting on their parents' shoulders, toting signs of their own, and fighting for what they knew, even at a young age, that they deserved. These kids, boys and girls who could have spent their weekends in another way, but chose to be here, are the future. They're who we're going to depend on in order to make changes to the often terrifying world that we're living in.

The womens' march on Denver was one of the most important things that I've been a part of in my life so far (along with SlutWalk Denver, when I was in elementary school). As I stood there, waiting to march, I thought to myself, oh my god, this will be in history books one day. The kids who grow up in the future will read about marches, and hope that we won't have to march for rights ever again. They'll see that strong women get things done, that our world is changed by love and kindness, not hate and rancor. As one of the chants during the march stated, "Love not hate makes America great."

Zelda Fitzgerald joined protests to fight for the 19th amendment. Simone de Beauvoir published essays and participated in demonstrations supporting womens' rights and pro-choice causes. So many women fought to make the world a better place, and I am proud to say that I marched too. A little girl at the march in Denver carried a sign that said "Snowflakes don't melt in Colorado, they turn into blizzards," and I can't wait for the snowstorm that my generation will bring.