Remembering 9/11

As another anniversary of the 9/11 attacks has come around, I find myself remembering that fateful day. It has been 13 years since that horrific day that will be forever etched in my mind, and the minds of anyone who was old enough to remember it. It was especially emotional for me since my office was located in One World Trade Center, the building that was attacked first. Although I was not physically there on that day—choosing to go to Augusta, for a fall vacation—it was nevertheless very traumatic. People always ask me why I moved to Augusta, and if I am being honest, I have to bring up the WTC, because that is part of the story. Inevitably, they ask, “Were you there that day?” and I say NO, even though I want to say YES. People seem to think that if you were not physically present, you have no right to be traumatized, but that is not true. Many people sought counseling to cope with the unbelievable and horrific events, including my brother, who didn’t even work there. But, just the fact that my office was there, watching the 2nd attack and buildings collapse in real time on TV, wondering if my coworkers got out, losing a friend, and realizing that by the grace of God I was away that day, is traumatizing. I cried for 6 months each time I thought about Angela, or when I saw pictures of the twin towers. I kept thinking, “Why was she killed and not me? Why was I not there that day?” I had “survivors guilt” for a long time, thinking, “Angela was such a wonderful person. It should’ve been me instead.” I thought of all those people I used to see in the elevators each morning, some disabled on crutches, and wondered if any of them got out. I think of the bravery of Alex, a security guard who lost his life at 36 because he chose to go back into the building over and over to help people. I think of Abe, a religious Jew, who lost his life because he refused to leave his wheelchair bound co-worker and friend, who happened to be Hispanic. I had been thinking of moving to Augusta for a while, but when I was laid off a year later with hundreds of others, that sealed the deal. I then decided that I would embark on a new chapter in my life. I started something called the “Layoff Log” just to cope with the insanity and bitterness that ensued after being let go from a job that was my “identity”. This journal documents that tumultuous time in my life, and gave birth to the writing I do today. The following excerpt from The Layoff Log begins with the few days leading up to the 9/11 attacks, which ultimately resulted in the massive layoff. This was written in 2001:

Events leading up to the attacks:

September 7 and 8th 2001

I have been working in the World Trade Center for about two years now. I am scrambling to finish the medical policies and send them out for review before I go on vacation to Georgia. I am feeling very stressed and am keenly aware of all the filing that I have piled on my desk that I MUST finally do when I return in two weeks. I e-mail the policies to Carmen so she can send them out to the appropriate people with hers as well.

September 10, 2001

I am finishing up some last-minute packing before my friends pick me up to take me to the airport. I am happy and excited in anticipation of seeing my friend and her family again. I arrive uneventfully and enjoy a relaxing dinner at Macaroni Grill with Janet, her husband Bill, and daughter April. I am feeling very mellow and can’t wait until the next day when we will be heading to Hilton Head for a few restful days.

September 11, 2001

My world and everyone else’s is changed forever. The Twin Towers are attacked and thousands are killed. It is approximately 8:46 and I am blissfully running that morning in Georgia, when I hear on the radio that there is “something going on at the North Tower of the WTC.” They were not sure but thought that there was a fire or some sort of terrorist activity. I quickly try to think if my office is in the North or South Tower and pray that it is not the North—later I realize it is. I am shocked and almost get run over by a car when I cross the street. I am on my way back anyway and race to the house. Janet is descending the stairs and I tell her to turn on the T.V. We watch in horror as we see the gaping hole in Tower One, my building, and I almost lose it. I note that the hole is high up and hope that my co-workers will be able to get out. I think of my ex-husband who works there too. Then we see the second plane hit the South Tower and I turn to Janet and ask, innocently, “Were there people in that plane?” She says grimly, “Yes.” Before long, we watch in disbelief as the South Tower collapses. We are crying and shocked. Then about a half hour later, Tower One collapses too. I pray and pray that my friends got out. I then realize that I have not told my parents that I am on vacation—they must think I am in the building. I am frantic and Janet takes charge, calling, calling, calling, and finally gets through to my Mom, who is crying on the other line. She said she and my Dad thought I was dead. Janet finally gets through to Mark who says he didn’t even go into work that day—he had a doctor’s appointment that morning. He said he didn’t know anything about other friends in the building and he would contact me later in the day. We sit and watch all day long, shocked and numb, but yet unable to tear ourselves away from the T.V. The disbelief is palpable and I feel that I am in a dream state. We cancel the trip to Hilton Head. We finally decide to go out to dinner and wherever we go, we cannot escape the horror. It is all over the T.V. and I am totally amazed that some people seem to be going about their business as if nothing has happened. I feel compelled to tell people that I used to work at the WTC. I eat but barely taste the food and feel guilty that I am even able to eat at all.

Mark calls me later in the evening to tell me Angela, our friend, his close friend—did not come home at all and nobody can get in touch with her. Elliot thinks she is dead. I am shocked and sick, sick, sick. I go to bed and pray but, in my heart, I know she is gone.

Rage

Sudden outbursts of rage have always existed in society and I know that. But, it just seems that I am hearing more and more about this. Maybe it is that it is reported more due to the News literally being 24/7 or is it that people are just in a constant state of frustration and anxiety due to this insane world we live in now. The most recent outbursts have occurred on airplanes due to people being inconsiderate by sitting down and immediately reclining their seats onto someone’s knees or people putting a device preventing them from reclining at all. When I rode the NJ Transit bus from New Jersey to Manhattan every morning, this would happen every so often. I was annoyed but I simply quietly asked the person in the seat in front of me if they could please just move the seat up a little bit because it was hitting my knees. Most of the time they just moved it up and that was the end of the story; incident averted. Conversely, I would do the same if I were the person reclining the seat (although I never put it back where it would hit someone’s knees). But, now some enterprising individual has invented a device that attaches to the seat in front, thus preventing the seat from reclining at all. That is ridiculous because everybody who buys a plane ticket has a right to be comfortable and I think most people are polite enough not to slam the seat back. But, I was not surprised when I heard that a fight broke out severe enough to divert the plane the other day. Then recently another one was reported as well. At first I thought that this was a gross overreaction to something that could’ve been fixed diplomatically but I think the cause is just RAGE; that this was “the last straw.” We live in a society where we often feel like victims of some sort. Most of the time we have no control of situations concerning bureaucracies such as the Healthcare Marketplace, Insurance companies, or other large entities where they call the shots. An example of this is with my own Medical insurance which was inadvertently cancelled last week. Trying to reinstate this has been a monumental chore, having endured endless arguments over the phone and no matter how much cajoling, threatening, crying or whatever I do, nobody can expedite the process without the required red tape. Years ago the famous scene in Network where Peter Finch yells out of an office window, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore” still resonates with most people. In the movie, when everybody opened the windows and started yelling out the same thing, I wanted to scream, “Right on.” Every day the average person is bombarded with life’s little indignities, and are often forced to just accept the injustice of it all. But I do think that most people are like “sponges” and can only absorb just so much before the inevitable slow leakage occurs. The media only covers the horrific acts of violence such as mass killings that are often the result of years of “just taking it”, as with bullying in school. But what gets overlooked are the average Joe or Jane, whose years of “just taking it” are manifested in high blood pressure, heart disease, obesity, and mental health issues. Most people have an edit button that prevents them from perpetrating violence (and there are degrees) but some don’t. How many times have we heard people being interviewed after a hostage or mass shooting situation where they say, “I don’t understand it; he was such a nice person. I never even expected this.” The thing is you don’t know what is boiling under a person’s skin. I think that with all the recent insanity in the world (beheadings, ISIS, plane shootings in the sky, HAMAS) and all the little indignities we face in our own lives, it is not unreasonable to expect to recline your seat in a plane and enjoy the solitude away from LIFE for a while. So when an inconsiderate passenger adds yet another measure of indignity to something that should have been pleasurable, we just explode and in our heads we simply say, “Enough is enough. I don’t have control of the world, or my health insurance, or my job, or much else, but I sure as hell have control of whether or not I can recline my seat.” So, I cannot blame the woman who went ballistic at the inconsiderate oaf who decided that he was more important than she was and took that one little pleasure that day away from her.

Competition

Competition has ruled my life ever since I can remember. Everything from being the fastest runner in the playground when I was a kid, getting the best PR in a race, being the best looking, or whatever it is; I have to turn it into a competition. Although I seem to crave it, competition is also the source of constant fear and unhappiness. Fear that I won’t measure up to someone else or someone will be “better” than I am and the ensuing unhappiness when I feel disappointed in myself. It is a never-ending merry-go-round that I can never win because there will always be another person who trumps me.

For years, I ran races with a very competitive spirit. Of course, not being an elite runner, my competition was other runners in my running club, or often just myself. In running there is such as thing as a PR (personal record) and before any race, especially full Marathons, I had an idea of what my time should be. Sometimes I achieved my mark, being very proud, but inevitably another runner I knew had a better time. Then my pride in my achievement would dissipate. Other times I didn’t live up to my own expectations (there’s that word again) and although I just ran 26.2 miles (something that most people can’t do) doing pretty well, I would beat myself up. It was when one day I decided to totally stop running races and just run for the pure pleasure of the sport that I became free. I never entered another race and I felt happier. The same holds true for anything in my life because to me everything is a competition. All through my working life, I constantly compared myself to coworkers, wondering if they got a promotion, a raise, were liked more by the boss, etc. As a massage therapist, it is almost impossible not to be competitive–always wondering how many clients someone else had that day, how many “regular clients” they have, always jockeying for the boss’s approval. Of course, jealousy and competition go hand and hand. Even in my photo meetings, I want to be the best, instead of just enjoying the companionship and learning from like-minded people. I tell myself that I should just write because it feeds my soul, and not to worry about making money. I tell myself that I should just do photography because I like it and not try to feel that I have to adopt other’s methods, or their style. I want to be creative because it makes me feel good, and not have expectations or have to be accountable to others (which would happen if this became a business). I need to remember my own lesson with running and follow my own advice. For some reason competition is in my blood and although I have my theories, I’m not totally sure why. But, what I do know is that “everybody is a star” in some way; most of us have something we’re exceptional at and I need to recognize my own talents. When I stop comparing myself to other people, and just accept who I am, and not who I think I should be, I am so much happier.