Eighteen Years Later...

There was this incredibly good-looking tall drink of water stopped in his tracks, seemingly lost, disrupting the New York City commuter rhythm as I made my way up from the train through the lobby of the WTC to the bridge that would take me to my offices in the world financial center.

What floor he was heading to? Was he there for an interview? An important meeting? Did his mother wake up that morning, unaware of her son's location and turn on the news to feel an instant wave of relief that her only... son worked in Stamford instead of downtown Manhattan? Perhaps he was a brand new dad like me.

My spouse and I were new parents, a few days home from a tumultuous trip to adopt our first son and it was my official first day back in the office. A short time after I saw that young man, my friend Ellen and I were together quietly ensconced in an office looking at pictures from the trip, catching up on office gossip. We heard the first plane slam into the tower across the street. It seemed loud like a military jet gone astray. We then watched the second plane approaching and veer off to fly into the other tower. Despite burning debris and lifeless bodies for blocks around, we decided to ignore the warnings suggesting we remain in place, and managed to navigate our way out of our building. We became separated in the confusion, but each managed to find our way onto a ferry to NJ, physically unscathed before anything collapsed. My eyes scanned the skies. I was convinced a third, fourth and fifth plane, would materialize out of nowhere as the others had. As the ferry crossed the Hudson, I thought of this man and these questions.

It took six years for me to even begin to unwrap the impact of what I witnessed...to begin to understand how the experience changed the way I bring myself to the world. Presumably this is still unfolding. In hindsight, I likely should have figured out I needed help sooner.

And yet, I am but one of hundreds of thousands impacted that day. I am among the more fortunate. I am alive. I did not become ill digging through the wreckage. The family and friends that were in close proximity were safe. About seven hours later I was able to experience the embrace of my husband and hold my beautiful son in my arms.

I do not attribute my fortunate state to a corporeal god. I have no belief in such a thing. For surely among those souls I witnessed that day, the ones who chose in their last minutes to control their fate and emerge through the curtains of broken glass only to descend into the ground, there must have been plenty who were kinder, more gentler loving human beings than I.

No, it is only by chance that eighteen years later I contemplate that tall drink of water. It is by chance I am privileged to ask, what is left? What matters? What is my obligation?

It is something if, in this moment, I can bring love. I have this capacity.

It is also something if, in this moment, I can meet someone where they are at, without judgment. As Maya Angelou used to often say, you can’t judge, or disrespect, "You don't know what kind of news they may have just got off the phone hearing." We cannot know the experience of others and I am best when I put aside pre-conceived notions and meet others with an open heart.

And finally, it is something if I can say, "In this moment, I shall shy away from that which is cold, judgmental and unwelcoming of my embrace and love. I shall gravitate toward those that are warm, open and loving. To those that are in need of warmth, openness and loving, and ask, simply, 'How can I be of help here?'"

At first, such an approach can feel forced or slightly disingenuous; not quite embodied as a way of being. But as one of my spiritual teachers points out, “We practise our destination.” If I continue to practise, abandoning the expectation of response, and inquire without the expectation of reward, somehow I recognize, and am quite aware of my capacity to love, to help, and to act on those intentions.

Which is important, because in the scheme of things, there isn’t much else that matters apart from how we love and give, is there? And ultimately, this moment is really all there is to count on.