My 9/11 Birthday
My birthday is September 11. I was born long before THE September 11, but since 2001 my birthday has been marked by the events of that day. My life has been marked, as all of ours were. I know a lot of people were touched far more deeply than I was. But there is a strange...something...that happens when your birthday is 9/11. The day that had always been used to celebrate my life is also now a day where we remember death and great loss. It's sobering. I wake up in the morning to lovely texts and Facebook messages from friends near and far. And I'm also confronted by photos of planes going into the WTC.
I feel protective of my birthday. Ever since 9/11/01, I have planned birthday parties for myself every year. I think I am trying so hard to remind myself that I can celebrate my birthday. I should celebrate my birthday. I try to remember it is ok to feel joy and happiness on a day when others are grieving.
I was driving to work on my birthday this year, and it was overcast. There was a chill in the air. In 2001, my birthday was sunny and the skies were blue and clear. The weather was gorgeous. Not so in 2015. And then I saw a plane overhead. I'm sure there are planes on my morning commute every day, but I never took note of them. I did on my birthday. I was reminded of how eerie it was in the days following 9/11/01 - the empty, quiet skies. Something so normal and mundane, but it's absence felt so profoundly.
That's what happened on 9/11/01. A very ordinary, everyday means of transportation was used as a tool of death. And the ordinary became very...different. Evil.
As my friend Jason says, our birthdays are our true New Years Day. It is when we start the next year of life - so it is the time of year for evaluation and resolution. Because of the powerful memories of 9/11/01, my birthday reminds me each year to renew my commitment do doing good and loving others. I suppose it's my way to counter what happened that day. Terrorists used an everyday thing for evil. I will use it for good. I'll take opportunities to make people feel seen, heard and loved. I'll spend the extra minutes talking to the guy making my coffee at Starbucks. I'll hold the door open for a mom and her kids. I will try to give freely and love well. I will to try to do good with the opportunities placed before me. I hope you'll do the same.
I feel protective of my birthday. Ever since 9/11/01, I have planned birthday parties for myself every year. I think I am trying so hard to remind myself that I can celebrate my birthday. I should celebrate my birthday. I try to remember it is ok to feel joy and happiness on a day when others are grieving.
I was driving to work on my birthday this year, and it was overcast. There was a chill in the air. In 2001, my birthday was sunny and the skies were blue and clear. The weather was gorgeous. Not so in 2015. And then I saw a plane overhead. I'm sure there are planes on my morning commute every day, but I never took note of them. I did on my birthday. I was reminded of how eerie it was in the days following 9/11/01 - the empty, quiet skies. Something so normal and mundane, but it's absence felt so profoundly.
That's what happened on 9/11/01. A very ordinary, everyday means of transportation was used as a tool of death. And the ordinary became very...different. Evil.
As my friend Jason says, our birthdays are our true New Years Day. It is when we start the next year of life - so it is the time of year for evaluation and resolution. Because of the powerful memories of 9/11/01, my birthday reminds me each year to renew my commitment do doing good and loving others. I suppose it's my way to counter what happened that day. Terrorists used an everyday thing for evil. I will use it for good. I'll take opportunities to make people feel seen, heard and loved. I'll spend the extra minutes talking to the guy making my coffee at Starbucks. I'll hold the door open for a mom and her kids. I will try to give freely and love well. I will to try to do good with the opportunities placed before me. I hope you'll do the same.
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