Cherry Blossoms, Traffic and Tripods:

My family went to the D.C. Cherry Blossom Festival this past Saturday.

We took the train into the city, trekked up and down government buildings, and slept on a grass lawn just outside the Lincoln Memorial.

Families jammed under pink and white trees asked us to take photos of them—and offered to return the favor.

Children ran up and tugged on the sides of our pants, mistaking us for their own.

And I wonder… when did people become so afraid of community?

So afraid of crowded spaces and multi-cultured faces—because their personal bubbles bursting for five minutes isn’t worth helping a stranger smile.

I don’t mind traffic—especially on a Saturday when we’ve got nowhere else to be and no one to see except each other.

I don’t mind long lines, because they remind me that everyone in them is just another person looking for love, some sun, and someone to share it with.

I loved every shove, every shuffle across worn-down grass paths, every “excuse me, please” and “thank you.”

In a city that’s forgotten kindness, in a country that’s forgotten humanity—

I loved spending a day seeing people of different backgrounds crammed in one place, remembering that it’s okay to share the same space.