Today rocked. I can’t put my finger on why. But I’ve learned not to question it for fear of waking the sadness monster. So I don’t ask. I just go with it…one of those days where work clicks and you’re crazy stressed, but finally being asked to do projects you enjoy doing, that you’re good at. Why is that so rare? There’s a bigger answer to that question…one for another day.
Leaving work late, I chose to run errands, as I’m evidently against the idea of getting home before 9pm any night of the week. As I came up empty in my quest for a digital camera, I took a frustrating walk home from Best Buy. My mind was racing about all going on these next few days…with work, school, twenty guests, and now no camera… overall, annoyed at my constant struggle to balance the expectations of others with my own, and only having 24 hours in a day. I think I might have been muttering to myself and cursing my lack of sleep these past two weeks. I looked at the firehouse I was rushing past, and continued staring at the sidewalk, making mental lists. Then I realized what street I was on. I walked back and looked at the framed faces in the glass case hanging on the brick facade. Yes, there he was. On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I walked 60 blocks with two friends from work to stay at my sister’s place on the Upper East Side. We stopped by this firehouse to see the uncle of one of those friends. But the firehouse was a ghost town, one of the first called to the scene at 8:45am. Nine did not return. He did not return.
Sometimes things make you stop in your tracks and cause you to say a prayer on 85th Street. It doesn’t happen often. But it does happen. That’s what I decided I was grateful for today. That I decided to look up.