As an author building my brand, I know I shouldn’t post some of the things I do, even though I keep it on my personal page. And I’ve certainly gone against much of my family in my posts, although that is probably par for the course at this point in my life. Posting my opinion and fears made me feel better, despite possible ramifications.

Here’s why. A lot of writers (or anyone in a creative field) are highly emotional people. We live on a rollercoaster of ups and downs, and that’s sometimes DOUBLED because if we’re doing it right, we’re suffering through our character’s woes as well. My mind never stops, and it’s full of about 900 different threads. Some are work related, many are family: my parents; issues between myself and others that have me baffled and hurt; Grace’s daily stuff. At any given time, there’s a conversation going on in my head. It might be something I want to say to a family member but never can, or maybe how I’ll deal with the attorney for my parents tomorrow, or even how to help Grace work through an issue. My point is, it’s all fueled by emotion. And often fear of the unknown is right on its heels. So add in something as volatile as politics and the future of our country, and things become a powder keg.

We see so many terrible things going on, and we read way too much on FB, and we just keep absorbing and absorbing, and then we’ve got to speak.

I probably spoke too much. To all of the family members and friends I offended: I never meant to target you in anger. I never meant to say you personally are racist, anti-semitic, anti-everything but straight, white male. When I wrote those posts, I wrote them with a vary specific subset of Trump supporters in mind, but I probably generalized the posts too much. I’m sad for the divide it’s probably caused with some family members, although the gap was already very established. I’m sad for anyone I made feel badly or targeted by my posts because that’s just another form of hate and fear that so many of us are afraid of for the next four years.

I do stand by the things I said. Putting them on Facebook isn’t the answer, however, because all it does is incite arguments and push-back. Clearly, no Facebook or Twitter status ever swayed a vote. But when you run on emotion like I do, and your life is so full of personal and business responsibilities, you feel like social media is the only way you can make a difference and get your voice heard. And how can we stay silent when we see terrible things happening, and we have so much fear for our future?

Social media isn’t the answer. It’s full of targeted hate and threats. Trying to make any point on whatever platform you choose is probably going to be ignored at best.

So what can I do?  I can donate to the various groups who are willing and able to protect civil rights and the environment. I can keep my eyes open in my community for hate crimes or threats, and I can educate my child that we must be tolerant of others’ opinions even if we don’t agree, but intolerant of bigotry and cruelty. I can teach her that skin color and religious preference don’t matter, and that we stand up to bullying in any form. I can set the best example I can for her and encourage her to do the same for her peers. I can tell her that even though times are scary, we are all going to be okay.

Because I have to believe that’s true.

If you want to donate time and/or money to groups fighting to protecting civil and human rights, click here.

Last month, Beverly Diehl issued a call on her blog to participate in her MLK Blogfest, and I jumped at the chance to be a part of something so meaningful.

Growing up in predominantly white southern Iowa, I didn’t have many experiences with racism. Everything I knew about the subject came from the history books, television, and movies. I knew Martin Luther King was an important figure in the Civil Rights Movement, and that was about it.

Then, the summer before my junior year of high school, our music department took a trip to Washington, D.C. By bus, mind you. From Iowa. One of the buses broke down on the way, and the trip was talked about for years as being a miserable but sometimes fun experience. At sixteen, I didn’t grasp the importance of lying the wreath at the tomb of the unknown soldier during the changing of the guard, or of being in the East Room of the White House where both Lincoln and Kennedy’s bodies were laid out. Seeing Lincoln’s bloody pillow in the house across the street from Ford Theater was chilling, but I was more concerned with boys and how I looked.

But one thing about that trip sticks out in my mind: the first time I heard King’s legendary “I Have A Dream” speech. To be honest, I don’t remember where exactly we were–I think it was somewhere around the Lincoln monument–but I remember being in a media room, the lights darkened, and sitting with my best friend and her mother. And the video played.

I’d read the speech before, learned about its importance. But I’d never heard King speak. That day, watching the black and white video of a courageous man in the prime of his life as he stood on the steps of the Lincoln monument, a perfect backdrop, I was moved to tears. It was the first and only time a speech ever made me cry. It was more than just the passionate tone of King’s voice, the cadence of the words, and the reaction of the crowd.

It was the first time I truly understood the plight of African American’s during the Civil Rights Movement. A hundred years after Lincoln freed them from the terrible practice of slavery, they still languished, fighting for equality. Finally, I understood–as well as I could–the cruelties they faced.

I often wonder if today’s generations truly grasp the sacrifices of King and the other brave men and women who marched on Washington. Would they have the courage to stand up for their beliefs, for their personal rights? Even though racism is still prevelant in this country, do the younger generations understand the humiliation of not being allowed in a restaurant because of skin color? Of having to move seats because of skin color? With all the priveleges we have today, can any of us really understand?

Today, nearly forty-four years after his tragic death, I wonder if King would consider his dream fulfilled. What would he think of the world as it is today? Despite equal opportunities and an African-American president, are the minorities truly free at last? Will we ever live in a world where people aren’t judged by skin, religion, or ethnic background?

What does today mean to you? Do you remember the first time you heard the “I Have a Dream” speech?