I got done playing today (a wedding and a party). Got the harp in the house, took off my shoes, changed into my comfy clothes. Paced. Looked out the windows. Petted the cats. Paced some more. Turned on the television to a 9/11 memorial show in the History Channel. Heard the voices of those trapped in the towers. Started to cry immediately, like I always do when I see 9/11 coverage. Turned off the television.
I didn't know how I was going to mark this eve of the 10th anniversary of 9/11. It had to be with holiness, somehow. And quiet. So I got out my candles from Notre Dame de Paris. They're the holiest thing I could think of.
Two candles. For two Towers.
I lit them and started remembering. I remembered all the faces and voices in all the documentaries and television specials about the event. I've watched them so many times I can parrot the interviewees. I know when to turn the channel when it's going to be too much.
And then I spent time with my own memories.
When the first plane hit the first tower, I was at work. On the third floor of the building, which was the top floor. I was writing about a new product that was going into one of our catalogs. It was a white satin ring bearer pillow. 8" square. It was studded with silver beads in the shape of a cowboy hat. For couples celebrating Western weddings. Our cost was probably next to nothing. We were going to charge something like $37.00 for it, non-personalized.
Then my friend Barbara emailed me. The World Trade Center had exploded. The Pentagon was on fire. Pray. Then Mom called me, just to check in. It turns out that a plane hit the Trade Center. Then another. This was deliberate. This was war. She told me she loved me. I told her I loved her, too. Then I called my Dad. What was going to happen next? I asked him. He's an army veteran. He would know. "Well, somebody's probably about to get their asses blown off," he replied. When? I wanted to know. That, he couldn't answer.
I logged onto the news on my computer. Images, news reports, rumors, misinformation, real information. For the next hour, the silver-studded ring bearer pillow sat untouched on my desk. And then a voice came on the office intercom that though this was a national tragedy, we shouldn't let it affect our work. Our deadlines. That's the first time I cried that day.
Because people were jumping to their deaths half a country away. A tower was falling. The Pentagon was collapsing. Another tower was falling. Thousands of people were dying. A plane was crashing into a field in Pennsylvania. And I was supposed to focus on finding the words to sell a silver-studded ring bearer pillow made of white polyester satin. Not even real satin. Polyester.
It wasn't the first time I was caught between the details of my work and the larger aspect of "what really matters." But it's the time that made the difference. I did some desperate, deep thinking after 9/11. It mattered that I had a job. I was dedicated to my job. (In fact, I still work there.) But what also really mattered then was that there was life with meaning outside of it. And I had to find it. I had to.
What I had at hand with which to make that difference were my harps. My music. And I began to use them. I began to take risks. I made a second recording in honor the man who gave me my harp, to say thanks to him. To say a universal thanks for all the gifts in my life. I gave a concert to release that CD. 800 people came. I sold a thousand CDs that night. I planned another concert. And another. Made another CD. And another. Gave more concerts. I played and I played and I played and I played those harps and through them I send out my love and my highest wishes for good in the world.
And it's mattered. I can see it matter every time I play. It affects people positively. I affect people positively. I found my calling. Perhaps I owe it to being picked up by the neck and shaken and tossed to the ground and stomped on by the events of 9/11. Perhaps it would have happened no matter what because it was simply meant to be. Nonetheless, it happened.
And so I look back on these 10 years since 9/11/01. I remember the horror. I hear the voices. I can see the Towers falling. I see this country struggling. I am agonized by the warring that has followed.
But I also see growth. Change. Purpose. In myself and in others.
I hesitate to post this because I'm not a New Yorker. I don't know anyone who was in the Towers. I didn't lose a loved one. My small thoughts and feelings about this event pale in comparison to those who suffered directly, immediately, horribly.
But I am an American. I stood in the center of this country and felt the shock waves of the events occurring in New York, absorbed them. I took in this horror, this tragedy and I changed my life. I changed my life for the better. I don't think I'm the only one who has done so. And in this way, I think, we have proven ourselves better.
In this way, perhaps, we have won.
