My Thoughts on the WTC Disaster
The attacks on the World Trade Center changed me. Subtly, maybe, but something definitely feels different inside.
For a while I felt guilty that it affected me so much. I was in the vicinity but I didn't see the planes smash into the towers and I didn't see them collapse, except later on TV. I experienced the aftermath - dust and smoke obliterating Wall Street, singed documents littering the ground, abandoned shoes, sirens - but I wasn't in the thick of it. And more importantly, I know no-one who was killed in the attack, although there are always friends of friends.
Nevertheless it affected me dramatically. After Tuesday's adrenaline dissipated, Wednesday was appalling. In the morning, in an attempt to continue with normal life, I went for a run in Central Park but felt an overwhelming sense of panic that I was unable to know what was happening. I felt that the world could be disintegrating without my knowing it.
Later I'm sure I weighed a hundred tons as I sat glued to the TV, not able to move to get myself fresh air or proper food. All my capacity for achieving anything shut down. I struggled to believe that life could ever return to normal.
On Thursday and Friday the realisation sunk in that life would definitely never be the same again, but slowly I also came to grips with the fact that life changes daily, and that although this event was outside the boundaries of my imagination, it didn't mean that life could not continue (mine, that is), or that it couldn't be positive and constructive and fulfilling. It just meant that my perceptions had to change.
At this point I felt guilty again. How could I believe that life could and would continue when there were thousands of families torn apart by the attacks, and thousands of people whose lives were already over?
But I started to think that I was doing a disservice not only to the victims of the attack, but to the inspirational teams working at the scene, by moping around unable to lift the weight of death and fear from my shoulders. I watched as people looking for news of loved-ones clung to optimism even a week later. I read a story of a widow who saw the death of her husband in the Pittsburgh plane as an act of heroism and an opportunity to achieve a higher purpose, not a tragedy. And I continue to see the soldiers, the construction workers, the policemen and the firemen in the streets, working around the clock to find life if life exists, and if not, at least to return New York City to a semblance of normality for the rest of us. To risk their own lives to construct out of destruction and to inspire determination in the masses of people who would otherwise have lost hope in the face of their own fear. How do you thank the people who do these things?
And so now I am determined to continue life (as it was before September 11… almost); to enjoy life, and be happy of course, that I have a life to enjoy.
And my changed perceptions?
Of reality, mainly. It never crossed my mind that I could be living in a city which could be attacked so viciously by enraged dissidents, and destroyed to such an extent. New York City had this incredibly positive attitude which forced itself into your existence. The city not only encouraged, but forced people to be confident; forced people to believe that life could be better; forced people to believe that the very heart of life was New York City.
And I believed it too. I have lived in this city for 7 months and allowed its sense of indomitable strength to pervade my life. I have felt a joy and confidence in living here that I never found in London. And as I stood on the roof of a Broad Street apartment block watching the towers burn, it did not occur to me that we could be under threat. I just looked at those invincible buildings and waited for the fire squad to fix it. Not once did I contemplate the idea that the towers could collapse and thousands of people could die. Not even for a second.
And so, I suppose, my naivety has been broken down, along with my subconscious perception of a force-field of security surrounding my life. My conviction that positivism and determination can overcome all obstacles is shattered. I can now see a vulnerability in life, and as a result also a greater value. I see (previously I would have said that I saw this, but now know that I did not) that life can vanish without warning in a second. Not just mine, but the lives of the people I work with and live with and love. Tomorrow could be a different day altogether.
These are not earth-shattering changes I know - they are a natural result when the world is rocked. But they will subtly change the way I live and the way I see life. How, I don't know yet.
Unfortunately guilt still remains. And it comes now with disillusionment. Here I am - my life seems successful, and in very many ways is. My career is good; my personal life is wonderful; I have fantastic friends and family who are all doing brilliantly at what they are best at; and I am constantly finding myself new challenges. But the flip side has suddenly become painfully clear. I'm not doing anything for anyone. I'm helping people make money (Bluewave for one, and all the clients whose websites I help build), but that's all. In the face of a vast and gruesome terrorist attack happening half a mile from where I work I can do nothing: I can't go and help the injured; I can't go and help the teams working at the site; I can't solve anyone's problems; I can't provide comfort or support; I can't find peace through helping others; I can't help others find peace.
And I'm left wondering what sort of a life is that?
27 September 2001
Roj and me on top of the WTC - for the last time - in March 2001
