Dear Julia,
I woke up this morning to a headline I prayed I would never read again, and you were one of the first people I thought of.Â
I thought of you waking up each morning in high school, groggy from a long night of studying. I thought of you putting on your uniform and waiting for the bus. I thought of how even on the busiest days, a moment of gratitude will slip through the cracks during one of your classes or extracurriculars. You will once again be reminded of how lucky you are to attend an all-girls school that uplifts you even when you feel small.Â
When you were a Freshman, 17 students and teachers were killed at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. Many of the victims were your age. Your school community watched in horror as the media cycle came and went, bracing yourselves for a lack of gun policy change under the first Trump administration. Despite this fear, your community demonstrated it anyway. You joined students across all grade levels in a school-wide walkout and listened to the heartbreaking accounts of how gun violence has impacted the girls you see in the hallways every day.Â
Tears and hugs were shared by both students and teachers, but there was also hope. Even now, I remember that day as a turning point in my political activism. Although the demonstration was a place for mourning, it was also a place for love. Equitable political progress and love do not merely coexist â they are essential for the otherâs survival. No movement is worthwhile if it is not built upon a loving community, and no community can truly practice love if its members are suffering at the hands of oppression. With time, this message has only become clearer to me, but I believe that this understanding first began during the March For Our Lives walkout.Â
You attended your first Womenâs March during the winter of your Sophomore year in Philadelphia, and you were buzzing with excitement. You walked down the Benjamin Franklin Parkway with your friends in a mirage of colorful picket signs. Chants and smiles from women across generations showed you how rewarding it is to use your voice. Your group eagerly listened to the stories and speeches of women from all walks of life until the bitter cold became unbearable. On the train home, with numb fingers wrapped around a hot chocolate, your heart felt full.Â
Iâm thinking of the hope you have for the future. You have yet to experience imposter syndrome in a lecture hall of predominantly male peers. You have yet to hear misogynistic words from the mouths of men who claim to be your friends. You have yet to see Donald Trump ascend to the presidency again.
There is more to come that even I canât warn you about, but I know you are prepared. Even at age 16, you have a stronghold of female family members, teachers and friends who inspire you to stay passionate, kind and determined. Thankfully, this will not change. I have grown to love these women in a deeper way as I reflect on my life, even if they arenât currently a part of it anymore.Â
Iâm also thinking of your classmates, who you see shine every single day. The kind ones who know how to listen, the brave ones who know how to lead and the witty ones who know just when to crack a disruptively funny joke. Today, my heart breaks for all of these girls. I am truly grateful that I got to spend my formative years in a space with so many brightly talented young women, and I hope that unique privilege is not lost on you.Â
At this moment, I am struggling to feel the hope that ignites you. I know that you spend a lot of time thinking about your future self, and you hope that âcollege youâ is the perfect actualized version of all of your dreams. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that is not exactly who I am.
Although you may be surprised to hear it, I spend quite a lot of time admiring you. Not only do you hope for a better future, but you fight for it. You stay informed, you discuss with your peers and you exercise compassion in all circumstances.Â
In the wake of Trumpâs election, I feel completely lost. I canât let myself succumb to powerlessness, so thatâs why I am thinking of you. I need a guide for strength, gratitude and love. Although I may have a hard time believing it, I know it will be okay since you knew it would be okay.
In fact, you believe in a future that will be more than okay, and I would like to rejoin you in that sentiment. It feels scary, but maybe committing to hope is the only way to power through these dark moments. I donât know the future, but I do know the past, and I think you may hold more answers there than I do here.Â
Love,
Julia