11 Years Later

I was fine until I walked to work today.

Now that I live in Manhattan and my office is once again in Soho, my view on the way in is the same as it was that morning 11 years ago, when I was walking down Broadway from the Prince Street subway station and looked up to see sparkles of glass in the air.  (Here's the link to my full 9/11 story.)

So when I turned south from my street and looked up on this identically clear day to see the Freedom Tower rising above the downtown buildings, I lost it in the middle of Sullivan Street.  Luckily, my dad was up early on the West Coast and he talked me through it enough to get a few blocks further, until a moment of silence came on the radio (yes I even walk-commute with WNYC, I'm an addict) once on West Broadway and I lost it again.  I can't quite place it; I suppose it's the same remembrance that anyone has when they suddenly miss someone they lost, triggered by some small thing like an object or a holiday or a smell or a song.

Being from the West Coast, I'm so grateful that I was here in New York on that day.  It was my first year here, and I think it somehow cemented me as a New Yorker early on.  I love this city despite how crazy it makes us; I love this country despite all the problems we face and how different we all are.  Here's to us.