Like Any Other Day

I sat in the courtyard today, too distracted to read, staring at the reflection of my building in the twin adjacent to it, with my sunglasses on and my iPod isolating me from the people around me. I looked at the reflection, recognizing it, but thinking about things thousands of miles away. With thoughts the size and consistency of clouds hovering over me, I sat for fifteen minutes not really putting anything together. I just looked at images in my mind.

Of course, I did spend the whole day with a perpetual TV broadcast at my desk, the bells constantly tolling in my mind at ground zero. I was here, alone, when the attacks happened five years ago, and two months after that I lost my job with thousands of others in the massive layoffs that followed. I did a lot of writing and rehearsing in the year that followed, but the thing that came back to me today was the numbness of that whole period of time. I looked at the people at today, and I wonder if they've changed since that time. I wondered if they actually experienced more emotion when the company started laying off people in huge waves. Specifically, I'm talking about the people who say the same things every single day at pretty much the same time: "Howdy howdy" in the morning. "How are you?" repeated five or six times in mid-morning. "See you tomorrow / Have a good night" connected as one thought at 4:45pm. Are those the same people who want to put this particular anniversary behind them?

If there's one thing I can't stand, and this climbs under my skin like that little creature from "Alien", it's indifference. I'm not just talking about the big things, either. I'm talking about the little details, like the store clerk who feels largely ignored, the unlucky person who spills change or a stack of papers, even the person walking towards a door they're going to have difficulty opening on their own. These people slip through the cracks, and on a daily basis I see people complete a transaction, walk past a person in need, or glance back and allow the door to close anyway. I work with a few hundred people who, if they can't figure out how to do something, will walk away leaving something undone. They'll ask me to do something I can complete in front of them and watch me do heavy work without offering to help.

What happened to the people who suddenly awoke in September 2001? What happened to the community that stood up, lit candles, and had to console each other through months of flooding reality?

I think, maybe, people find comfort in the recurring pattern of indifference. It could be that people find safety in isolation. It could be true, that people are afraid to connect, afraid to make the commitment to a stranger, because life is unpredictable, and we're all so damned sensitive.

As I looked up at the reflection of the building behind me, I realized that yes, I've chosen to break off contact with some people in my life. Yes, I'm sitting there with music in my ears, hiding behind sunglasses while I sit in the shade. It's also very true that I'm learning not to make such a commitment to people I could know better, because in many ways I've been let down in the past. It's all so very unavoidable if you want to experience life...

...and today might be just another day to some people, but because I remember what it was like back then, I can consider myself pretty lucky that I'm still here to remember it. With all that in perspective, I shouldn't be afraid to try again.