September 11th 2011 started as a cloudy day and much trepidation about going into the City. Noticeably increased security of rifle carrying guards patrolled train stations as well as the streets a few days before. Commemorative television programs populated the airwaves, bringing us back to the same day ten years before. I've come to expect a lack of or restless sleep around this time every year, perhaps I'm psychologically revisiting that day of infamy. Sometimes I think that maybe I am somewhat sensitive to the souls of those who perished, still crying out in anger, pain, seeking peace. Somehow my body returns to the fears and physical reactions felt that very day when the world lost its innocence.
I was running late to work that day in 2001, quickly glanced at my usual view of World Trade Center right before taking the PATH train. Someone said that a small plane that crashed into the top floor a few minutes before (which explained the billowing smoke), so I called into work explaining this could potentially delay me further. Onlookers slowed their motion in curiosity at this sight, but with a lack of alarm as it didn't seem that grave of a situation.
By the time I exited at the last Uptown PATH train station at the 33rd Street station, the slowed motion of previous onlookers was replaced by the frenetic pace of Manhattanites. There was nothing normal about this frenetic pace as it was downright panic with people calling loved ones on their cellphones. It didn't take long to see the root of all this as I turned around at the sight behind me. The usual view of World Trade Center that welcomed me into Manhattan after a twenty minute ride was no longer. Widening my eyes as if just waking from a dream didn't clarify the cloud down town, but it confirmed the tragedy that was unfolding.
Although about two miles away, I ran to seek shelter in my then office at the New York Press alternative newsweekly to find the staff gathered around the television. As if we weren't in enough shock, a communal gasp came as soon as the second plane hit, and everyone saw in each other's eyes that we were now under attack. Some felt anger, shock, to downright nausea speaking for myself, at which time I had to be excused. Not knowing what to do or what was to come, some coworkers had to take a drink at the neighboring bar. Some of us walked to Bellevue Hospital to perhaps give blood for the anticipated injured, but were turned away as there were sadly more casualties than injuries.
Masses evacuated from lower Manhattan, and the whole island following this tragedy including myself. I walked uptown further to meet a friend in Central Park and hopefully safer ground even further to his apartment in Washington Heights, then across to New Jersey. However for the next few days, safety seemed nowhere to be found as fear struck not just the cities and people affected by this act of terrorism, but the nation as a whole.
Fear alone has a way of not just taking hold, but incapacitating and disabling an otherwise able bodied person. Not only was I in bed for the next three days feeling extremely tired and sleepy, but sought at least the feeling of safety under the covers clutching my favorite pillow. Plunged into what now seems like a trauma induced depression, this was surely one of a kaleidoscope of responses not just to the immediate tragedy, but to lingering fear which was an equally intended target. Like an earthquake, my psychological ground shook violently with aftershocks of media flashing further reports and developments, until I forced myself to venture back to the world of the living (and might I add with much guilt for those who were no longer).
"Others came back to work a day after, why didn't you?" asked my boss. I had no answer for this, nor wished to do so. Clearly an over achiever as an NYU Stern graduate of only three years, my younger boss had the daunting task of remobilizing a magazine as this monumental tragedy brought us to a grinding halt. It seems she did so in a timely manner without much negative impact to the business, but resuscitating the intangible morale required of her far much more than her impressive credentials. In hindsight, recalling the varied ways we all had to cope and move forward, she may have tried her best to refocus an otherwise astute, and I'd like to think, efficient Credit Manager towards the daily operations. However, I found myself paralyzed by her question even more than my fear. Prior to the end of that business day I knew this was no longer the choice environment for a majority of my waking life.
It was ironic for many that I boarded a plane to San Francisco shortly after so I could be with family. My contribution to the spike of alcohol sales promptly began then onboard as a coping mechanism, and has continued since as a mere culinary compliment mind you. For hours on end I ensconced myself on Mom's couch, fluffed amongst pillows for a month. Mom became alarmed, and in the tradition of my boss asked a question I couldn't seem to answer, "Why did you leave your job?"
Death and destruction may have had something to do with it, and getting my head around this reality two train stops away as a part of daily life. Yet that was half of the equation. I asked myself the next question "Why did you move to New York?" to which I automatically responded "To be an actor."
That seemed so glib, but the ensuing question of more depth was "What does being an actor mean in post 9/11 apocalyptic world and why do I have to participate in it?" I could posit as much as scholars, but I knew my answer would lie only upon returning to New York and a more active pursuit of creating.
Risk was the name of the game, with a mound of credit card debt, unemployment, and the daily reminder of World Trade Center's crematorial fumes. Yet step by step, I rebuilt my life just as the brave and unwavering rescuers and rebuilders did at Ground Zero. Following my streak of irony, I accepted a temp position at a financial firm despite the recruiter's question "Would you mind working Downtown?" My newfound daytime position afforded me the mounting of my zany cabaret "Andy, the Musical" reformatted as a talk show simply to create and entertain at a time when we all really needed it. Shortly after, the opportunity to see ninety one cities of our country in nine months presented itself via the National Tour of Rodgers & Hammerstein's "Cinderella" so I left the comforts of home again. And by home, this time, I meant New York (which I now add to San Francisco & Manila). After a successful year on the road doing exactly what I loved and needed to be doing, I've taken a permanent position Downtown and am busier than ever creating "in my own little corner, in my own little chair". Did you ever come out of dark and difficult moments, dusted yourself off, thankful you survived, and said to yourself "There's no other way I would've learned that lesson"?
The beams of light signifying the Twin Towers serve as a reminder this time every year of those we lost. For many who long to reunite with their loved ones, ten years do not mitigate their loss and doubt if any length of time will. Yet out of respect, may they also rebuild, renew, and reinforce hopefully from what they have found.
Although about two miles away, I ran to seek shelter in my then office at the New York Press alternative newsweekly to find the staff gathered around the television. As if we weren't in enough shock, a communal gasp came as soon as the second plane hit, and everyone saw in each other's eyes that we were now under attack. Some felt anger, shock, to downright nausea speaking for myself, at which time I had to be excused. Not knowing what to do or what was to come, some coworkers had to take a drink at the neighboring bar. Some of us walked to Bellevue Hospital to perhaps give blood for the anticipated injured, but were turned away as there were sadly more casualties than injuries.
Masses evacuated from lower Manhattan, and the whole island following this tragedy including myself. I walked uptown further to meet a friend in Central Park and hopefully safer ground even further to his apartment in Washington Heights, then across to New Jersey. However for the next few days, safety seemed nowhere to be found as fear struck not just the cities and people affected by this act of terrorism, but the nation as a whole.
Fear alone has a way of not just taking hold, but incapacitating and disabling an otherwise able bodied person. Not only was I in bed for the next three days feeling extremely tired and sleepy, but sought at least the feeling of safety under the covers clutching my favorite pillow. Plunged into what now seems like a trauma induced depression, this was surely one of a kaleidoscope of responses not just to the immediate tragedy, but to lingering fear which was an equally intended target. Like an earthquake, my psychological ground shook violently with aftershocks of media flashing further reports and developments, until I forced myself to venture back to the world of the living (and might I add with much guilt for those who were no longer).
"Others came back to work a day after, why didn't you?" asked my boss. I had no answer for this, nor wished to do so. Clearly an over achiever as an NYU Stern graduate of only three years, my younger boss had the daunting task of remobilizing a magazine as this monumental tragedy brought us to a grinding halt. It seems she did so in a timely manner without much negative impact to the business, but resuscitating the intangible morale required of her far much more than her impressive credentials. In hindsight, recalling the varied ways we all had to cope and move forward, she may have tried her best to refocus an otherwise astute, and I'd like to think, efficient Credit Manager towards the daily operations. However, I found myself paralyzed by her question even more than my fear. Prior to the end of that business day I knew this was no longer the choice environment for a majority of my waking life.
It was ironic for many that I boarded a plane to San Francisco shortly after so I could be with family. My contribution to the spike of alcohol sales promptly began then onboard as a coping mechanism, and has continued since as a mere culinary compliment mind you. For hours on end I ensconced myself on Mom's couch, fluffed amongst pillows for a month. Mom became alarmed, and in the tradition of my boss asked a question I couldn't seem to answer, "Why did you leave your job?"
Death and destruction may have had something to do with it, and getting my head around this reality two train stops away as a part of daily life. Yet that was half of the equation. I asked myself the next question "Why did you move to New York?" to which I automatically responded "To be an actor."
That seemed so glib, but the ensuing question of more depth was "What does being an actor mean in post 9/11 apocalyptic world and why do I have to participate in it?" I could posit as much as scholars, but I knew my answer would lie only upon returning to New York and a more active pursuit of creating.
Risk was the name of the game, with a mound of credit card debt, unemployment, and the daily reminder of World Trade Center's crematorial fumes. Yet step by step, I rebuilt my life just as the brave and unwavering rescuers and rebuilders did at Ground Zero. Following my streak of irony, I accepted a temp position at a financial firm despite the recruiter's question "Would you mind working Downtown?" My newfound daytime position afforded me the mounting of my zany cabaret "Andy, the Musical" reformatted as a talk show simply to create and entertain at a time when we all really needed it. Shortly after, the opportunity to see ninety one cities of our country in nine months presented itself via the National Tour of Rodgers & Hammerstein's "Cinderella" so I left the comforts of home again. And by home, this time, I meant New York (which I now add to San Francisco & Manila). After a successful year on the road doing exactly what I loved and needed to be doing, I've taken a permanent position Downtown and am busier than ever creating "in my own little corner, in my own little chair". Did you ever come out of dark and difficult moments, dusted yourself off, thankful you survived, and said to yourself "There's no other way I would've learned that lesson"?
The beams of light signifying the Twin Towers serve as a reminder this time every year of those we lost. For many who long to reunite with their loved ones, ten years do not mitigate their loss and doubt if any length of time will. Yet out of respect, may they also rebuild, renew, and reinforce hopefully from what they have found.
