There was a wee gathering of folks in my city this weekend. A couple hundred thousand, so some news people tell us, or eight lost tourists if you trust some of the others. Whatever you believe, I was there, right in the mess of it, hardly 100 feet left of the stage with a clear view of little other than “Sanity” written in 900-point font and dozens of porta potties. I write this in jest, of course. There were hundreds of porta potties. There were also people, large and small and walking and wheeling, college kids in logo tees and graying hippies. Most didn’t seem to care that they could see little, hear little, in some cases had to perch in trees even to get a picture of the crowd. They came out to make a statement of some sort. And make a statement they did.

The signs said it all. “Don’t be a douche,” one read. Its owner posed for pictures most of the time I was there. “I don’t like slogans,” read another. “God hates figs,” “I have a pre-existing condition in my pants,”and “I thought this was the line for Georgetown Cupcake,” a joke not only locals can now appreciate. Very few signs said anything about mid-term elections, about health care, about polls, Obama or Beck. While the crowd surely runneth over with lefty liberals, you really couldn’t tell just who was there, because people didn’t identify themselves as they usually do. There were no surnames on their patriotic pins, no attacking words on their cardboard signs. They were just there to enjoy the day, the sunshine, the voices that spoke of being fed up with the ridiculousness of ads and hate and head stomping. We were just people, without stamps of affiliation, without booming voices of divisiveness or viewpoint.

Unless you were the pot people. We all knew exactly what they stood for.

I’m not so sure everyone got the message. There was a good bit of disdain for the event on Twitter, yawns from the crowd about what a lame event it was, what lame Americans we must be to get our news from comedians. But wasn’t that part of the statement? Truth be told, Jon et al. are refreshing voices in the melee of partisan politics. Their message was less leftist than about working together, about getting over our damn selves already, no matter which party is printed on your voting card. Take it a step further, and it’s a comment on each of our everydays, snarking here at A and pointing there at B rather than getting on with the important things. About the high school mentality that seems to follow us through life, a mentality we allow to display itself in some instances, and fight fervently against in others. It was about regaining sight, perspective. Couldn’t we all use a little nudge toward that?

I’m glad I was there. I’m glad I pushed beyond the inconvenience of going and warmth of cats and covers, excuses I’ve exercised well and turned to on numerous occasions. High-maintenance hippie that I am, I went late to the rally and even drove the few blocks to the event, lured not only by my interest in the day’s vague program but the promise of an abundance of cool Foursquare badges. I will have no children to tell about my October day on the Mall, no signage of my own to share. But there’s something to be said for what happened here, a few things to note. No, we won’t all get along. I still will never see eye to eye with some, namely the ones who run those abominable abortion commercials after hours and others who would rather die than let DC have votes that matter. But I can see them as people rather than viewpoints. Or I can start to.