It was the day I woke up 15 years ago and really cried. Still in shock but I just couldn’t believe it was real and when I woke up it was. Dammit!
So, yes. Death and mortality and love are on the brain and then this appeared on the NY Times web site today.
Just a quick share:
And my Instagram post on September 11, 2016
Look. I did the math and fifteen years is a long time.
I’m 43 now and I was 28 when I watched those towers in my beloved city fall from only a few blocks away on Bleecker Street and 7th Avenue.
I remember thinking, “What’s going to happen to the world? To my family? To my country?
It’s a lot to take at any age and being 28 felt young and old at the same time.
But get this. 15 years before I was 28, I was 13. That 15 years felt
like a lifetime.
And 15 years from now I’ll be 58. I’m not sure what to think of that.
It’s just numbers and it may have been 15 years ago, but a terrorist attack is an attack. And you’re living your life (at any age in any decade w/ any sort of cognizance of happiness, longevity, and mortality) and whether you’re downstairs from your office that’s on the 105th floor grabbing a bagel, or you have your weekly Tuesday 8 am meeting, or you are walking across the West Village for a networking appointment (that was me), when out of nowhere you are figuratively or physically blown away, you’ll never forget.
Saying “never forget” makes it feel like you are living a greeting card existence. The situation is a lot more nuanced than that. It’s especially true bc you know you won’t and that’s mostly bc you can’t.
Today I’m thinking about all those that were lost unfairly on that day 15 years ago. I’m also thinking of their families and other survivors.