My Week In Washington D.C.

I got about thirty minutes of sleep the night before leaving for Washington, D.C.

Somewhere between packing a 49-pound suitcase and waking up to no power in my house, the trip had already decided what it was going to be a little chaotic.

I had never been to DC before, but I loved it immediately.

There’s something about the city that feels both heavy and alive at the same time—history everywhere, but also new movements and energy. People rushing through metro stations, tourists looking up, locals looking down, and quiet moments in the loudest of spaces.

We explored the U.S. Capitol, the Library of Congress (where I searched for the Book of Secrets with no success), and the Folger Shakespeare Library.

But the part that stayed with me the most was the time spent in museums.

I spent an entire day at the National Gallery of Art and it wasn’t nearly enough time. I saw works by Degas, Cassatt, and pieces I had only ever studied academically—and suddenly they were right there, in front of me. I cried.

There’s something overwhelming about seeing a piece you’ve written about, thought about, and studied… and realizing it exists outside of you, completely on its own, and still somehow meets you exactly where you are.

Don’t worry thought, the trip wasn’t all quiet reflection. It was also rooftop dinners, late-night ice cream runs, getting slightly lost on the metro, and electric scootering through the city. It was brownie gelato, tiny grilled cheese sandwiches, and sober margaritas.

There were moments that felt heavy, too—especially at the National Museum of African American History and Culture. Even in lighter spaces, like the National Museum of Natural History, I found myself thinking about the stories we choose to tell—and how.

Somewhere between museums, monuments, and meetings, I realized how much this trip was about more than just visiting places. It was about understanding the role of art in a bigger system—how it intersects with policy, education, advocacy, and community.

We spent time advocating for the arts, having conversations that felt both intimidating and exciting.

One last early morning. One last metro ride. Cold towels at the hotel gym (which, honestly, was one of my favorite parts of the trip). Then a plane ride home.

Trips like this don’t usually end with some big, life-changing realization. Instead, they leave you with small, steady shifts—new questions, new motivation, and a clearer sense of where you fit into the world you’re stepping into.