I was walking to work
in Times Square the morning of September 11th, 2001.
This adventurous
little Hawaiian moved to the Big Apple after college to pursue big city
dreams. And I hit the jackpot- I somehow
got a job at MTV, the coolest brand in the universe. I felt incredibly lucky- I worked with fun
people at a fun company in New York City.
I was living the life.
I clutched my Kate
Spade bag as I arrived at my building on 44th and Broadway. The
elevator ascended swiftly to the 13th floor.
When I emerged, I
noticed something odd: no one was at their desks. I turned the corner and saw a group of
colleagues in the conference room, crowded around the television.
As I walked in someone
whispered: A plane struck the World Trade
Center.
We sat in reverent
silence as we watched the news, awaiting updates. The question on all of our minds: What happened? How could a commercial airliner have crashed
into that mammoth building?
No one thought it
was anything more than a horribly unfortunate error. My friend Shirley told me I should call my
parents, just in case. Though it was 3 am in Hawaii, I woke up my mom to assure
her that this plane crash was at least a few miles from me:
Mom, I’m fine. Just wanted to let you know.
But then, the second
plane hit. The mood shifted from sadness
to uneasiness.
Maybe it wasn’t an
error at all. Maybe we were under
attack.
A wave of panic
washed over the room.
We desperately
watched the news, and struggled to determine next steps. There weren’t any
manuals for a situation like this.
We waited for an
announcement over the intercom, a fire alarm— something-- but nothing came. Tension
was rising in the room when my boss announced that everyone
should evacuate the building immediately.
September 11th was a
beautiful, sunny day in New York City. I
was wearing a steel blue blouse, black cotton pencil skirt, and four-inch
heels. It was a challenge as I descended
the thirteen flights of stairs.
We rushed into the
streets, where huge crowds of people were milling around, equally stunned and
confused. Not sure what to do or where
to go, my friend Brad suggested we head north.
The trains had stopped running, so we trekked 50 blocks to his apartment
on the Upper East Side.
A few minutes into
our journey, my friend whose cell phone was still working, announced that one
of the buildings had fallen. We walked
in disbelief as the situation seemed to get worse with every minute.
We were glued to the
television at Brad’s house. When it was
clear there wouldn't be any immediate answers, I decided to start walking
home to Queens. It would be a long
journey, as I would be heading from the Upper East Side of Manhattan, across
the Queensboro Bridge, to Astoria.
Some memories are still so vivid: I clearly remember
Brad assessing my terrible shoe situation, and handing me his much-too-big
slippers to wear instead. While awkward,
they were a welcome relief to four-inch heels.
The next few days
were somber and confusing. Should I go to work? Are we safe? Why did this happen?
I’d love to tell you
that I tried to find the positive in the situation. But at the time, all I remember is feeling completely terrified.
Thirteen years
later, as I reflect on my experience living in New York on 9/11, time has given
me the gift of perspective.
It would be so easy
to dwell on the evil.
I’m focusing on the
light.
I remember the
compassion and kindness of New Yorkers.
I remember hundreds
of people lining up around the block to give blood.
I remember total
strangers, grief on their faces, yet nodding with encouragement as we walked across the Queensboro Bridge, with smoke rising from the towers in the
distance.
I remember the
overwhelming feeling that we were all in this together.
I remember the
light.
Today as you reflect on this momentous day in our history, I pray that you find peace and love.
And look for the light.
You cannot force out the darkness; you can only bring
in the light. – Elizabeth Gilbert
This is the message we have heard from him and declare to
you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. - 1 John 1:5
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