Who we were on 9/11
Anniversaries serve an important psychological purpose: They’re like checkpoints in time, reminders to pull over and remember the people we used to be. Nineteen years ago, some of us were in high school, watching the world burn on one of those bulky TVs the teacher would wheel in for movie day. Others weren’t watching through a screen at all — there were fewer back then, anyway — but through a window. A cloud of white ash. A cubicle in Manhattan, trying to make it through the workday just like everyone else.
“Every year, the anniversary is marked by something different, some other memory, a mix of sadness, nostalgia, loss, gratitude and hope that almost seems to define the word anniversary,” writes Alison Cupp Relyea in an essay chronicling every September 11 for the last 19 years — beginning with a quiet morning in an open-plan New York City office. One of those cool offices, a warehouse in Chelsea. Alison was small-talking with her colleagues over AOL Instant Messenger. Sipping a cup of coffee. Looking through giant south-facing windows at the bluest sky.
