now that I can think again...

It's funny, what you think of at times like this... When I was growing up, there was a park at the foot of my street, with a river running through it. As I grew older, and was more capable of leaving the house on my own, I would walk or bike down there, stare into the river, and think whatever I thought. There was a tree that leaned over the water, at one end of the park; it leaned out at such a steep angle, that I actually learned to walk up its trunk, and sit in the fork of the branches. So, so many of life's real and imagined crises were worked through in the seat of that tree... I even carved my initials deeply into the trunk, so that I could visit them when I was older- and hopefully wiser- and remember. About ten years older, there was an ice storm... months later when I visited Potsdam again, branches and debris still choked the river. The park was littered with stumps... including, of course, that one.

I still miss that tree.

When I was a child, I was scared... ...of just about everything. Heights; darkness; the ocean (although I lived at least a hundred miles away)... my imagination littered the world with unseen, imaginary demons. As I grew older, I forced myself to confront these nightmares- walking dark roads alone at night; swimming out over my head in the Atlantic; on and on and on. By the time I was out on the road with the circus, I had pretty much completed the process, and I was proud of myself, for having rid myself of fears...

Little things set me off now- the sound of planes (fighters were crisscrossing New York all week). Sirens. Any loud noise. (I went to see Les Miz on Saturday night, as I felt that I should force myself away from simply cowering in my home, and I wasn't able to pull myself together in time to volunteer for anything. Three hours of death, debris, and the LOUDEST prop guns I've ever heard... I almost walked out. Then, the song "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables", with the line, "My friends, my friends, don't ask me- why I live and you are gone...." I cried then, for the first time since it had happened- until then, I had been drowning in my own emotions, alternating between numbness and dangerously dark waves of emotion. Then, the last song, "When Tomorrow Comes"; such an uplifting song that I cried again... I think my healing began that night.) Hate crimes- if Hitler had been Catholic, would these people be bombing St. Patrick's? Looting- I saw footage of cops holding someone who was wearing fireman's boots; I'm astonished they didn't simply shoot him. Perhaps above all, cynicism- a friend of mine joked that the Javits Center, which is providing shelter and food for the homeless, was a good place for the unemployed- I nearly punched him in the face.

I wonder about the future... then again, I always have. Back on that tree, my questions were fairly elemental: Who am I? Why am I here? What will I do with my time here? Now, the answers I seek are far more specific: How powerful are these extremists, and what will they do next? What will WE do? Should I join the military, in the hopes of helping to protect those I love? What kind of a world will my nephew Patrick grow up into...?

There are certain things I'll never look at the same way again... Planes (although I intend to fly again as soon as possible; not only do the airlines need to be supported, but I refuse to hide in my house any longer). Explosions (I can't even TRY to sit through an action movie anymore). Photographs of the towers. Firemen.

There is so much to be thankful for, even now... We live in a city where people will still act to help each other in time of need. I'm not talking about professionals like firemen (although no words ever written could sufficiently honor the courage and honor of those paladins); I'm talking about people who immediately rushed to St. Vincent's and other hospitals around the city to donate blood (by the time I could tear myself away from the TV at 2:30 on Tuesday, every hospital in my area was already turning donors away). I'm talking about people like this.

...rest in peace, hero.

It's so, so hard to sum it all up in a few words. The towers were the site of my first real job in New York City; they were a way of orienting myself, when I was walking through lower Manhattan; they were a symbol of New York par excellence. In a strange way, I feel as those who heard of the Titanic's sinking must have felt- as though the world were now a stranger, less innocent place. The cowards who did this removed a great deal of the security which we, as Americans, had become used to feeling... although they will never be able to take away our resolve, or our faith in each other, and our homeland.

"The price of liberty is eternal vigilance."