Morning, chickadillos, from this coughing, sniffly corner of the Second City.
I’m still breathing though, right?
Today is a day that we all remember in some very abstract and also very specific ways.
For instance, I remember that I was 17. And that I sat in a classroom while the teacher buzzed around elsewhere, and that none of us really knew what was going on, but also, we knew everything was changing.
I walked into a tiny office to call my mom, because my whole family lives 2 hours from New York, and so, I was scared, not only in general, what-is-happening-in-the-world, but in very precise, have-you-heard-from-my-grandma terms.
It is, 12 years later, comforting to know, that despite the fact that as 17-year olds, we knew everything was about to change, a couple things haven’t.
I sat in that room I just mentioned with my best friend L, who’s still my best friend. Not in the way that means we can spend six hours laying on my kitchen floor listening to music anymore, but in the way that she’s always gonna be at the other end of the line every time something important happens.
I also sat in that room with JW, although at the time he was my buddy and obviously not my teenaged husband, but man, sometimes it’s comforting that in the background of most of my important stories, he was always there somewhere.
In any case, this will always be a day when people remember a whole host of things, terrible and hopeful, scary and uplifting.
This is one of the events that breaks our history into Before and After.
I know I don’t have the right words to encapsulate how I feel about September 11, or how I think other people should feel about it (mostly, I think you should just feel your feelings, that seems good enough), but I did read a post from G this morning that made me feel better, and I think that anything leading to there is maybe a step in the right direction.
Let’s all be thankful for sunshine, for breathing, and for free will, this morning, chickadees.
That’s never a bad place to start.