September 11, 2004

Everyone kept saying that it had been such a beautiful day.
And it really was.

The sky had been an insane shade of blue, the air was crisp yet tinged with the heat of summer, and it just seemed like an incredibly pleasant and cheerful Tuesday.

Of course we all know that even the most beautiful weather can't change our fate.

I was privileged enough to have been in NY on September 11th 2001. Despite a few years here and there on the West Coast, I have lived in New York most of my life. I grew up in Greenwich Village and learned to ride my bike in Washington Square Park. I saw my first wildlife in the Bronx Zoo. I had my heart broken on 116th Street and Broadway and put back together on 14th Street and 8th Avenue. The seminal moments in my life happened on that small island, tying me to it forever, whether I like it or not. Were I not in my city on such an important day, I would have felt cheated. If I can rejoice with New York, I should cry with it too.

Two months after the attacks, I had to be down by Ground Zero for some reason or another. I looked at the buildings still covered by the Trade Center's dust and it hurt. We were still wrapped up in the realization that New York City transcended whatever mere description we could come up with. More than just a collection of concrete, brick and glass, more than the biggest melting pot on Earth, more than a worldwide center of commerce, culture, and ingenuity. What 9/11 showed us was that New York was far more than the sum of its parts and everyone who lived there and everyone who loved all the well-walked streets, was connected by that intangible something. Marveling at the progress made in just a few short months, I found myself choked up by a rare moment of love and respect for my fellow man and for the City’s ability to rise above such pain. Subsequent visits to Ground Zero have done nothing to lessen that first sudden pang of connection.

The time of our greatest pain was the time of our greatest triumph and it was glorious to be a part of it.

However, necessity demanded I leave and two years ago I moved out to California.

People here talk about 9/11 the same way they talk about any tragedy they see on the news, it's horrible, it's sad and it happened elsewhere. I have ceased trying to make people understand what September 11th meant to New York or to me. I am simply talking another language.

Now, in 2004, for the second year in a row, I was outside of NY on September 11th and it just felt wrong.

I was lucky enough not to lose anyone during those attacks, though I came close. I am constantly in awe of my own good luck, having turned down a job on the 100th floor of one of the Towers just three months before they fell. Still I managed to forget that Saturday was the 3rd anniversary of 9/11 till much later in the day. Even now I feel the shame of my ability to forget. I walked around the mall near my house Saturday afternoon, and no one there seemed to remember either. People sat by the fountain, shopped for clothing, ate al fresco, and just spent a lazy Saturday trying to ignore the oppressive September heat. I was no better, having gone to the movies and spent several hours at the bookstore reading graphic novels.

It was later that night when I sat down to immerse myself in a night of bad cable that the importance of the date hit me. Several programs about those who died and those who didn't were on air. I spent an hour watching families of firefighters, cops, and stockbrokers remember their loved ones and touch whatever belongings were found at the site with reverence and a palpable bittersweetness. Children, parents, siblings, and spouses all emanated hurt and loss. So many people's lives were irrevocably changed and too many families were devastated. Survivors retold stories of unimaginable horrors, of unfathomable sadness and of inconceivable bravery. Everyone remembered a day at the beginning of Fall and at the end of our innocence. I sat and listened to it all, every agonizing memory. I sat in awe of the survivors and I sat in wonder at New York's ability to withstand such a deep and grievous wound. I sat and remembered it all.

And I ached for my city.