Remembering

I woke on the morning of September 11, 2001 to the sound of my clock radio. My normal morning routine is to hit the snooze alarm a few times, stumble out of bed, shower as quickly as possible, and race to work so that I'm late enough to have to apologize.

That morning, I rolled, hit the snooze alarm, and then realized what the announcers have said.

"We don't have any confirmation, but we've just gotten word that a plane flew into the World Trade Center."

For the second time in my life, a moment in history truly changed the course of the entire world. Even more than the fall of the Soviet Union, though, this time the change was as much about me as it was about the world around me.

I'd never before felt more helplessness than I did that morning. I sat and watched TV as the second plane hit. I sat and watched the interviews and saw the jumbled, frightening pictures. I listened to the announcers whose words were strained and confused and lost. And I knew that there were terrified people, running through the city, trying desperately to escape the buildings.

I knew that there were family and friends who were praying--begging God--to be able to see their loved ones again.

Only, I knew that thousands would never come home. Thousands upon thousands--a bloody wound in my mind that just wouldn't stop aching. I could see the faces and imagine the names--and I knew that no matter how much pain I could imagine, it did nothing to match the fullness of this thing that just wouldn't fucking stop.

I wondered what would be next. The rumors of planed heading to Washington DC were, of course, in my mind. But what about Denver? What about San Francisco? What about Chicago? What would be next?

When the towers fell, I knew that we were at war. I knew that there was no other possibility; that, in this horrible moment, the war that had been simmering at the edge of our site had finally erupted. Unlike the African embassy bombings or the USS Cole bombing, we wouldn't be able to sleep without terror again until we had faced and defeated the enemy.

And I felt helpless because there wasn't a damned thing I could do to save even one single life. There wasn't a thing I could do to comfort one of the survivors or one of the children left without there mom or dad. There wasn't any goddamned thing I could do to stop the pain.

When Guliani spoke later, I felt like weeping. The list of names of people that he knew and cared about brought the whole thing into such a clear focus.

I felt like weeping.

A righteous anger came with the helplessness and pain. An anger that has faded a bit to be replaced with resolve.

I'm a stubborn man. I don't like to follow other people's rules, I am always pretty damned certain that I know the best path for everyone to follow, and I will rebel against directives even when those directives are best for me. I'm not rebellious, just exceptionally head-strong; I like to do things my way.

When I left high school and joined the Army, it wasn't because I lacked the intelligence to do anything else with my life. It was because I thought that I could make a difference in the world by giving myself in service to the country that I love. When I left the Army, in less-than-ideal circumstances, I lost that greater meaning that I had tried to give myself.

I went through various jobs, finally settling in as a bartender because the money was good, the women were interested, and the drugs kept me smiling. It was a self-destructive period where I had seen a friend drink himself to death and I decided to follow in his path. I drank, I lived for one night with a woman who's name I'd never remember, and I used the drugs to keep my own personal party rolling along.

When I met my wife, I finally realized what had been missing: purpose. I needed something to help focus me, a goal that would drive me to something better. I gave up drugs entirely, stopped drinking for about a year, and put myself through school. Soon, through a mix of enthusiasm and little white lies, I had finally cracked the professional world. And I pushed hard. Over the course of the next six years, I wound my way to a good job in a good company. A company where I was respected and valued.

And I had done it on my terms. No schooling for much of what I did for a living. No degree to back me up. No compromises.

God, I was proud of myself.

And on September 11, 2001, I realized just how foolish I had been.

My life was still meaningless--and the helplessness I felt was just a reflection of that lack.

As a graphic designer, if I went into my office and did my job better than I had ever done it before, the best I could hope for would be the company I work for selling another book. Maybe another online course.

And for the first time in years, I felt empty. My marriage had ended and my personal life had been revealed as a sham--a pointless existence where no matter what I did, I couldn't save even one of those people in that tower that was falling down.

Now I try to find that meaning again. I've given blood and written about the things that matter to me. I've tried to make a difference, but I know it's not enough. I know I can't save the world from pain, and a return to the military is not a reasonable thought. What can one person do?

At very least, one person can take part. Can raise their voice in the national dialog and be heard. That one person can volunteer their time to good causes and can vote so that the system of government is always reacting to the voice of the citizens.

And maybe that's enough to help, just a little bit, fix all those things that are wrong. Maybe that's enough to nudge the world in the right direction.

When the Soviet Union collapsed, I learned to believe in grand dreams. I learned that men and women with vision and will can make amazing things happen.

We are the men and women who need to believe in the vision, who need to have the will to stay the course, and who need to work and sacrifice to make this new vision a reality. We are the men and women who have been called to do our part to help change the world.

I'm in.

Posted by zombyboy at September 10, 2003 11:01 PM | TrackBack