Nine Eleven.
To those of us who were alive and cognizant at the time, those two numbers conjure a very specific meaning: September 11th 2001. The Twin Towers. Airplanes. 3000 souls.
Someone once pointed out to me that 9/11 is the American way of writing dates, but European countries will read this as November 9th. It's a small observation but interesting to note that two numbers, in that order, don't immediately symbolize the same thing to everyone.
On this day, the 20th anniversary, I can't help thinking about the fact that there are kids on their way to college that weren't alive on that pivotal day. I think about the difference between being a human who experienced a certain trauma or crisis, versus being someone who reads about it.
I grew up hearing about the World Wars, Korea and Vietnam but they were distant, intangible. They were dates in a history book, part of a bigger narrative to memorize so I could pass a test. In my first world comfort, living in a peaceful society, it was hard to imagine what my parents and grandparents lived through.
I remember the Cold War. I don't know that I was afraid of monsters under my bed, but the constant threat of something exploding between these nations gave me my own monsters. I imagined Russian soldiers patrolling the halls of our house at night. Every time I made a dash to the bathroom, I managed to escape their sight, and live to sleep another night.
It's strange for me to think that there are teenagers, young adults, and people yet to be born into this world who will only ever read, or see films and documentaries about something that I lived through. It wasn't just two AIRPLANES crashing into BUILDINGS in the middle of a city. It was NEW YORK CITY. It was AMERICA. It changed that feeling of being a country impervious to outside attacks. Somehow, this great power had become vulnerable.
It was so unbelievable, that conspiracy theories cropped up almost immediately. It was an inside job, it had to be! No other country has the capacity or the audacity to make this happen.
It was puzzling, tragic, horrifying, terrifying, and it changed freedoms that we had taken for granted for so long. Being able to get on an airplane without a full body check, seeing a bag on a bus, in a subway, on the street, without assuming it was a bomb. Looking at everyone with suspicion, especially if they had a big backpack.
Will there ever come a time when each generation doesn't have a date (or dates) emblazoned in their collective memories because their whole world changed, and everything that was lost could never be regained?
If it must be so, let the next date be because we lost something that no longer serves us in a positive way, and everything we gain from that loss makes us collectively better to ourselves, each other, and the planet.
