It's incredible that almost two decades have gone by since the attacks of September 11, 2001. Many are still affected – emotionally, physically, existentially. It's also astounding to think that so many young adults who are approaching voting age were too small, or not even around, to comprehend the magnitude of what had happened. It was the gut punch felt 'round the world and so many of us are still wounded by it.
I was born and raised in New York City, but I was far from there on that September day, having moved to a new home in Dallas just days before. Just about all of my family was scattered about the country, but we still had roots in New York and we all felt the pain at the same time as the terror unfolded. In whatever way we could, we reached out to each other in disbelief and sadness. It was one of those nightmares where you couldn't scream and you couldn't run fast enough. We felt helpless. We needed each other. Most of you reading this went through something similar, no matter where you were born or grew up.
I was deep in my career in the travel industry at the time, literal steps from the beating heart of one of the major airlines tragically involved on that day. I didn't make it to work until much later than my typical start time. My colleagues, stunned and emotional, showed up when they thought they were ready too, but no work got done that day. We continued watching the television and listening to updates, trying to make sense of everything. We just wanted to be around each other. There was something else I noticed that day. It happened to those of us who were friends and colleagues at work. It also happened among strangers and mere passers-by who typically just nodded to each other in the hallways on any given morning. On September 11, 2001, we became each other's family.
Before that day, I used to joke that to get New Yorkers to talk to each other, you would have to witness a mishap or one of those only-in-New-York situations that made you turn to another and say: "man, that's messed up." This was the ice breaker that tended to crack the outer shell New Yorkers had the reputation of jealously protecting. I would never have imagined that one day it would permanently be obliterated.
Soon after 9/11, strangers on the streets, at work, and even on airplanes began to acknowledge each other more often. We began to see each other as people. There was a sense of need and purpose. We had to be there for each other. Maybe it was fear. It's a big motivator, you know. Maybe it was just a way to cope and not feel helpless. Whatever the reason, I'll never forget that sense of calm we had around each other. It was almost as quiet as the skies above me which had been plucked clean of all aircraft. Imagine, living between the hub airports of two of the largest airlines in the country and not seeing or hearing anything overhead for days. It was that tranquil, but eerie at the same time.
I know what you're thinking, and I ask the same thing often: what the hell happened to all that good will? In time, we went back to our self-absorbed ways, grouped ourselves into our idealogical tribes and then buried our egos in virtual arenas where we could affirm our self-declared wisdom to an audience of our choosing. We became stars in our own little universes and shoved aside the unsigned pacts we made with each other in favor of the shield of anonymity and the safety of our homogenous groups. We stopped talking to each other and asking how we were doing.
We take this day to remember the many that were lost and to celebrate their lives and heroism. We salute those who ran toward danger and who, to this day, might still be struggling with the physical and emotional aftereffects of their bravery. We acknowledge everyone who played their small part in helping and comforting others. We remember the lasting friendships made between Newfoundlanders in Gander and the foreigners arriving on diverted aircraft with nowhere else to go. We recall with amazement at how controllers in Halifax stacked every type of plane imaginable onto its field and lined them up on every inch of runway and taxiway as if it had been practiced many times just to keep passengers safe. Our neighbors were there for us when we didn't even stop to think about it. They too were part of our family on that day. I like to think they always will be.
For those who celebrate a birth on this day, I salute you. The mere mention of September 11 does something to our psyche. I really hope you're able to receive the tribute you deserve while we acknowledge this date's somber place in history. As with those born on a December 7, or November 22, we have to give ourselves the space to remember the historic significance of these dates while still being able to celebrate the good that also took place.
The clock hits 9:11 twice each day. I notice it more often than I think I should. Maybe it's a way to remind me that it strikes once to remember our past and those we've lost; and again to remind us that how we treat each other at home, at work, and in life in general will tell us just how much we've really learned.
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