thirteen years ago, i was twelve years old. i woke up on september 11th and had an entirely average morning. i was wearing a dark grey tank top and flared jeans. i walked to school with my friends, it was a beautiful, sunny day.
i was in choir when my principal’s voice came over the intercom informing us there had been some sort of attack in new york city. i vividly remember the look of shock on my choir teacher’s face as she covered her mouth in horror at the news. she said her best friend lived in new york.
quite frankly, the rest of the day is a blur. i know i went to art class. and then our principal came to talk to my language arts class. i went to my friend ari’s house and i went to dance class. i sat with my parents and watched the president speak.
now i’m twenty five years old. i woke up this morning and went to an early yoga class. thoughts flicked through my brain as i tried to settle in and focus. i thought about my to do list. i thought about work. i thought about boys. i thought about my body, how it felt and how i feel about it. i thought about my plans for happy hour tonight. i thought about how my mom is retiring soon and maybe next time i visit we can do yoga together. i thought about how i should probably call my parents since i never got around to it last weekend.
i came home and walked my dog, showered, made coffee and ate breakfast. i checked the weather and got ready for work.
i started my morning commute, grabbing another coffee on the way. i got to work and put my lunch in the fridge getting ready to start the day.
only then did i take note of the date.
sitting at my desk, reflecting on what the 9/11 attacks meant at the time and what they mean now, it struck me that i have a new found kinship with those thousands of men and women who became victims of terror that day. i got up and went to work. they got up and went to work, and they either never came home again or came home a profoundly changed individual.
i was a child thirteen years ago, and the events of that day were unfathomable. as an adult they still are. but the more we look back, the more we talk about it, and the more we can hopefully begin to understand.