September 11, 2004

Today I avoided turning on the TV until about 6 o'clock when I had nothing better to do but wait for a certain extremely shy individual to nut up and call me. I love me some TV, but today I had to stay away from all the restrospectives and tributes and recollections.

On September 11, 2002, I was temping for Vogue Magazine and had only been in New York for 12 days. A moment of silence was observed at the time the first plane struck one of the World Trade Center Towers. I had just come up from the subway in Times Square and was desperately peering around at street signs in my search for the Conde Nast building. It was then that I realized how eerily silent everyone was. I nearly collided with a group of off-duty fireman standing on a corner, staring up to the jumbotron, which was displaying a waving American flag.

In the past twelve months I had emerged from a depression, gotten a job in Philadelphia that paid the bills but almost killed my soul, made the impulsive decision to move to New York City, gone on a wild 2 week tour of Europe, sold my car, got an apartment with Kelly, and then found myself on that corner. September 11, 2001 did nothing to quell my desire to move to New York City and I had done it. A year after that devastating day, I was there. But I didn't really have time to observe that moment of silence. And I never made it down to the site or to any of the candlelight vigils or meetings being held in numerous locations throughout the city. I was so excited and overwhelmed to finally be in the city, that I couldn't accept her one weakness, and so I denied it and made it through the day.

On September 11, 2003, I was obsessed. Anyone can tell you. I watched every single program I could on 9/11. Sometimes more than once. And every single time I sobbed. I snotted and hiccuped and blew my nose. I despaired and grieved. I got angry and frustrated. I was defeated and bewildered and I kept going back for more. I was glued to the television. It was like it all finally caught up to me and I was helpless to turn away. I watched it all like an addict.

And then there is today. I woke up early after having gone to bed late. I ate breakfast, showered, made plans with Kelly. In the past year I've gotten a new job, moved into an apartment solo, lost 43 pounds, come out of yet another depression, had a bodily organ removed and come alive again, amazingly, unexpectedly - the most welcome surprise of all. It wasn't until Kelly, John and I were walking to a nail salon to get mani/pedis that I thought, "Today is September 11." For one second, an inexplicable feeling overwhelmed me, but then it was gone. I was back in the moment.

When I returned home, and I finally turned on the TV, I avoided whatever channels I thought would be running the same programs that ran last year and the year before, but curiosity eventually got the best of me and I scanned the whole thing. I saw nothing but regularly scheduled programming.

It's so strange that time has moved on from that moment, that I have moved on from that moment. I am fortunate. I wasn't directly affected, but my city was. I'm sorry for the sadness of that day. For the loss and the grief and every thing that has resulted from it. But I'm happy that we're moving on, that we're recovering, that we're rebuilding and changing. Life does go on, and I'm filled with grace at the thought that I get to go on with it.