Thanks to a corporate news station, either CNN or FOX--I'm not exactly sure which--I found myself swept into the throes of a terrible flashback.
As usual, I woke up bleary eyed and groggy, head swimming through a thick morning fog that never quite lifts until I have an injection of Starbucks and Lo-carb Monster. Everything seemed normal. I had already hit the snooze buttons on my alarm and cell phone--yes, both--three times, the television set still hummed quietly on its shelf from the night before, and I felt the frustration of everyday monotony sinking into my bones. I sighed . . . a long, drawn-out, exasperated heave of breath . . . then my vision cleared a bit and I focused on the actual images playing across the glowing screen at the foot of the bed. And my heart sank.
On this day in 2001, I was sleeping in late because I didn't have to work until 1 pm. Brandi (now my ex-wife) was already at work at the bank, and it was her shocked voice which told me to turn on the T.V. because a plane had just hit one of the twin towers. At the risk of sounding like an imbecile, I'm going to be completely honest. I was 25 years old at the time, not very interested in politics or world events, and then--just like now--had never been to New York. I remember dumbly thinking, 'What are the twin towers?'
When I hit the power button those eight years ago, I saw the exact same footage that I saw today upon waking, as someone had decided to re-air the footage, unedited and in its entirety. Black smoke rolled out of a gaping hole in the face of a glass and steel structure that dwarfed every other building in the vicinity except one. Next to it, partially obscured by smoke and fire and debris, stood its twin. Of course, I'd seen the buildings before. They were iconic images of American capitalism. Studios filming in the city often spliced panoramic shots of the New York skyline into countless scenes for their television shows and movies. Like many other Americans, I'd seen these buildings dozens of times without even realizing it, but every time their enormity somehow blended into the background. As it was, every news station was a in a state of confusion. Reporters called in with interviews from anyone who was even close to the first tower when it was struck, even those who had only heard what happened. So desperate were we for information. Was it a bomb? An accident? A small commuter plane, perhaps? The sky was crystal clear, surely weather couldn't have played a role in such a tragedy. . . .
Then a second plane entered the screen--a large commercial airliner--and slammed into the belly of the twin giant.
I remember the feeling that settled over me after seeing such a thing happen in real time. Shock. Disbelief. Sadness. Fear. The United States was under attack. Not our military, not the men and women in uniform who sign up and swear to protect us from "all enemies foreign and domestic." America itself--the people. Our way of life.
Today, as a better educated, 33 year-old, I watched the footage and realized just how much my feelings and mindset have changed over the eight years since the attack. Events that shocked me then are now commonplace, such as, Al-qaeda videos of Muslims training to kill Americans or stories of Anthrax being sent through the mail. The sadness is contaminated with contempt. I try not to let the actions of a relatively small group of radicals shape my emotions, but it's a difficult thing to do. How can people guided by a religious ideology harbor hatred toward such a large group of people based solely on the actions of its government? Yes, the United States is supposed to be governed "by the people & for the people," but most Americans are just trying to live their lives. They're trying to pay bills and put their kids through school. Hell, some are just trying to make it to the next day. Many of us aren't even aware of the machinations of government officials because we have other things to be worried about . . . yet we are still hated. Still targeted. The fear I felt that day has never left, nor lightened. In fact, it's deepened in a way. Now, I find myself glued to the news whenever countries like North Korea or Iran make threats of nuclear war. I'm afraid that sometime in the near future, threats such as these might make it impossible for me and the people I love to continue our struggle through life on our terms.
Yes, it's a struggle . . . and monotonous . . . and usually I wake with a sigh because I know that when I rise from bed I'm choosing to continue the struggle. But I do choose to continue.
I think about those people aboard the hi-jacked planes. The individuals at work in the twin towers and the Pentagon, the rescue workers trying to save those trapped in the towers when they collapsed--those people had their choices taken. Their struggles are over.
As usual, I woke up bleary eyed and groggy, head swimming through a thick morning fog that never quite lifts until I have an injection of Starbucks and Lo-carb Monster. Everything seemed normal. I had already hit the snooze buttons on my alarm and cell phone--yes, both--three times, the television set still hummed quietly on its shelf from the night before, and I felt the frustration of everyday monotony sinking into my bones. I sighed . . . a long, drawn-out, exasperated heave of breath . . . then my vision cleared a bit and I focused on the actual images playing across the glowing screen at the foot of the bed. And my heart sank.
On this day in 2001, I was sleeping in late because I didn't have to work until 1 pm. Brandi (now my ex-wife) was already at work at the bank, and it was her shocked voice which told me to turn on the T.V. because a plane had just hit one of the twin towers. At the risk of sounding like an imbecile, I'm going to be completely honest. I was 25 years old at the time, not very interested in politics or world events, and then--just like now--had never been to New York. I remember dumbly thinking, 'What are the twin towers?'
When I hit the power button those eight years ago, I saw the exact same footage that I saw today upon waking, as someone had decided to re-air the footage, unedited and in its entirety. Black smoke rolled out of a gaping hole in the face of a glass and steel structure that dwarfed every other building in the vicinity except one. Next to it, partially obscured by smoke and fire and debris, stood its twin. Of course, I'd seen the buildings before. They were iconic images of American capitalism. Studios filming in the city often spliced panoramic shots of the New York skyline into countless scenes for their television shows and movies. Like many other Americans, I'd seen these buildings dozens of times without even realizing it, but every time their enormity somehow blended into the background. As it was, every news station was a in a state of confusion. Reporters called in with interviews from anyone who was even close to the first tower when it was struck, even those who had only heard what happened. So desperate were we for information. Was it a bomb? An accident? A small commuter plane, perhaps? The sky was crystal clear, surely weather couldn't have played a role in such a tragedy. . . .
Then a second plane entered the screen--a large commercial airliner--and slammed into the belly of the twin giant.
I remember the feeling that settled over me after seeing such a thing happen in real time. Shock. Disbelief. Sadness. Fear. The United States was under attack. Not our military, not the men and women in uniform who sign up and swear to protect us from "all enemies foreign and domestic." America itself--the people. Our way of life.
Today, as a better educated, 33 year-old, I watched the footage and realized just how much my feelings and mindset have changed over the eight years since the attack. Events that shocked me then are now commonplace, such as, Al-qaeda videos of Muslims training to kill Americans or stories of Anthrax being sent through the mail. The sadness is contaminated with contempt. I try not to let the actions of a relatively small group of radicals shape my emotions, but it's a difficult thing to do. How can people guided by a religious ideology harbor hatred toward such a large group of people based solely on the actions of its government? Yes, the United States is supposed to be governed "by the people & for the people," but most Americans are just trying to live their lives. They're trying to pay bills and put their kids through school. Hell, some are just trying to make it to the next day. Many of us aren't even aware of the machinations of government officials because we have other things to be worried about . . . yet we are still hated. Still targeted. The fear I felt that day has never left, nor lightened. In fact, it's deepened in a way. Now, I find myself glued to the news whenever countries like North Korea or Iran make threats of nuclear war. I'm afraid that sometime in the near future, threats such as these might make it impossible for me and the people I love to continue our struggle through life on our terms.
Yes, it's a struggle . . . and monotonous . . . and usually I wake with a sigh because I know that when I rise from bed I'm choosing to continue the struggle. But I do choose to continue.
I think about those people aboard the hi-jacked planes. The individuals at work in the twin towers and the Pentagon, the rescue workers trying to save those trapped in the towers when they collapsed--those people had their choices taken. Their struggles are over.
I know it's difficult--I know that usually the effort it takes to live is often so great that we forget, but . . . We are living life. Try to remember such a thing when you hit your snooze repeatedly because you don't want to wake up; when you don't want to pull yourself out of bed; when you don't want to shave and dress and drive to just another day at work, or maybe another day of getting the kids off to school. Try to remember, that at least we still have the option to live our lives the way we choose. We still have the ability to continue the struggle in whatever way makes us the happiest. Try not to waste it, it may not always be there.
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