But it seemed weird that it was normal. It was September 11th, and it seemed like there should have been something that stood out to mark the tenth anniversary of the attack on the Twin Towers. But Mike and I rather studiously avoided any network tv, not wanting to see the memorials, we didn't talk about it, and nothing else felt different. Of course 9/11 was at the back of my mind the entire time. But it was just another day.

I know that for some people, 9/11 will never be an okay day. For me, though, as much as I abhor the ideals that made the terrorists even envisage this plan, it's not part of my life. I didn't know anyone in New York that day. I wasn't awake when the planes hit the towers; I missed the first barrage of news and didn't find out about it until my mom called me, panicked that universities might be targeted next. I went to my late morning class anyway, just because I didn't know what else to do. There wasn't much information yet, but eventually all classes were cancelled (which rarely happens at WU), and I spent the afternoon in the green space by the chapel and prayed for all those unknown people.

Today I saw some pictures from 9/11, shocking and scary. There were a few of the people who fell or jumped from the tower, and that took my breath. But still, I'm removed from it. On the one hand I feel callous and uncaring, but on the other I still thank God that I wasn't there. That my family wasn't there. That no one I know was in those Towers, or had their name read out during a memorial overlooking the largest man-made waterfalls that mark the place where they once stood. 

Aside from hassles at the airport (brief--I've only flown a handful of times since that day) and increased security at events, I haven't been affected much by the tragedy. I'm so grateful for that. It means that I can have just another day.

Bless those who can't.