I live in New York City. As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 approaches this Sunday, the entire city is preparing to mark this occasion is numerous and various ways, and a lot of reflection is taking place. Part of me, however, feels a bit strange being here. Almost like an outside or a tourist who is more in the way than helpful, someone who doesn’t quite get it because they weren’t here. 10 years ago I did not live in New York City. Perhaps it is telling enough that I have these feelings of discomfort toward being in the city (totally of my own mental ruminations, I am aware), as the majority of my ‘post-9/11’ experience took place away from this place. As a sort of commemoration, I offer here simply my story and an attempt at considering who I am now and who I may yet become.

10 years ago, I was a high school senior in Arkansas. School had started for the day and I was in AP Biology that morning, when a classmate arrived rather late. She told us all that the radio was saying that a bomb or something had gone off in New York. Without any better information (and before the days of smart phones) no one tried to investigate this news further, and besides we had work to do. But, news was spreading through the hallways and by the time we prepared to switch classes, it was clear that something very serious had happened. We had a strange AP configuration, such that two classes shared a lab period, although there were two of us enrolled in these classes and couldn’t be in both labs at once. As it was, my AP Calculus class had caught wind of the something serious and our teacher had made her own efforts to find a radio and tuned in to the news along with turning on the Channel-1 TV and tried to get a fuzzy signal.

When we arrived upstairs, we were quickly caught up on what had happened – a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers in New York. No calculus was learned that period. We stared in shared horror and confusion as the first tower fell, and then the second. They were repeating the footage of the plane crashing into the second tower, only to cut away to them falling down. Then the reports came in about the Pentagon. No one could say anything, and the reporters we were listening to could only express their disbelief. We had a block schedule, with 4 periods a day, but I honestly don’t remember what I did during our lunch break. We had an open campus and a large number of students drove, but I would suspect many of us simply sat in our cars with the radio turned on trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

My teacher in my next class was the wife of a National Guardsman and she was also pregnant. We didn’t do any work in that class either, and by then the school district had allowed the TVs to be turned on. There was a test scheduled in my final class, and our teacher allowed us to watch the news only after we’d finished the test. I respect her decision to not cancel the test, to try to distract us or else maintain some normalcy given the circumstances. It’s a little ironic, the class was an introduction to psychology and sociology.

After school I went straight to my Dad’s office, which was only a few blocks from school. My father is a Methodist minister. Being a preacher’s kid I didn’t consider it significant that I went to a church upon leaving school; I just wanted to see my Dad. I had cried confused tears throughout the day, but in his office I finally sobbed. I let out all the fear and sadness that had welled up all day. By this time the news coverage had already led me to believe we would conceivably be drawn into a war, and I remember being fearful that (among other things) the draft would be reinstated. What would happen to my older brother if that happened?

I can’t say that my Dad succeeded in calming me down, but at least I stopped crying and felt able to drive home. He needed to stay, but convinced being at home with Mom and my brother was best. As I left, the traffic was horrible. I noticed that people were lining up at the gas stations and rushing to the grocery stores. Seeing what was happening, the hysteria that led to hoarding, I got angry. Why, in this moment, did a full tank of gas or extra food seem like an appropriate reaction?! Were we all so selfish that the cost of gas going up was already on people’s minds? In a moment when I only wanted to be surrounded by my family, scores of others were doing something I found despicable and not at all helpful.

Six years later I moved to New York City for graduate school, to pursue my Master’s degree in theology from Union Theological Seminary. I had never visited the city before moving; I never knew the skyline when it contained those distinctive towers. I had no idea that day in 2001 that 10 years later I would find myself in this city, having obtained my degree and started my adult life and career.

In the four years that I have lived here I have participated in numerous events related to 9/11: unity walks, peace events, dialogue events, talks, classes, conversations. I’m friends with people who lived in the city in 2001, and I’ve heard many of their stories. I’ve heard stories from others who, like me, were not New Yorkers then. I’m friends with people who served multiple tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. I’m friends with self-identified liberals and conservatives. I’m friends with Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindis, Atheists, Buddhists, Agnostics.

All this to say, that who I am today, I hope, is someone who works to see through stereotypes and to challenge ignorance. I don’t know where I will be in yet another 10 years. But I hope that we are not still at war, and that we have found a way to better respect differences and will have grown beyond reactivity driven by hatred and fear. I hope that I will continue to challenge my own biases and tendencies toward anger over love. This is simply my story, and thank you for letting me share it.