Remembering

The second Tuesday of my freshman year I was sleeping off a late Monday night of partying, not unusual for Tulane.

Sometime after 8 am central time, 9 am eastern, my neighbor across the hall, whose name I now forget, poked me repeatedly to wake me up, his first words as I open my eyes, "The World Trade towers are gone; someone destroyed them.“

"Shut the f--k up; you're f--king with me," I blurted in a hungover stupor, if not some other equally eloquent retort. 

We ran across to the TV in his room showing footage of the havoc that had just ensued all over the downtown of my hometown. And so I joined the rest of the country who wasn't running from rubble to watch the coverage in shock, awe, horror, numbness, and any other emotional state you want to fill in.

It would be impossible to recall completely all the memories and feelings of that terrible day, just as it would for any other less eventful one. 

Ones that come to mind are: utter confusion that morning over having to take a quiz in French 101 after what had just happened, though classes were cancelled soon after; the turmoil in my stomach from not being able to connect with my parents on their new mobiles due to a still-nascent and overwhelmed cell network, though I’d gratefully eventually learn of their safety before the afternoon; the awkward emptiness after our dorm manager gave us a milquetoast address on the quad; or my surreal detachment at night while scanning across the crowd of fellow students packed into the popular just-off-campus bar, The Boot, chanting a soon-to-be-familiar rally cry of "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!"

What were we chanting for? Surely solidarity after a trauma that reached across our country and touched every citizen regardless of whether they had set foot in that beloved city. But I also sensed we were masking something much deeper right from that first, hyper-masculine expression of patriotism, of which there would be many for years to come. 

We loved that city and the country it so boldly represented. We wanted to bond and show love for each other after an event that would alter the course of our lives and world history. 

As impossible as it was for us to comprehend this event's consequences at that time, so too is it for us to see fully how today's happenings impact what is to come. 

On another Tuesday 17 years later, we say again, “Never Forget.” I see and hear this refrain on my social media feed and in messages from friends as I stand again in the city I love. I ran through the streets today on my way to a routine visit to the Apple Store in Grand Central Station. I marveled once again at the handsome glory of my favorite location in the city. I was grateful for the normalcy of this day and many that preceded it.

I understand why we must and will always memorialize this day when so many lost so much. I can‘t properly imagine the experience of someone who lost a beloved, or who was in or near those buildings, or in this city, or whatever torment and suffering anyone else faced because of that day. 

But, in never forgetting that day, I hope we are simultaneously reminded of who and where we are today. The following is what comes to my mind.

I am reminded of the 15,000 American troops in Afghanistan still fighting a war whose reason for “declaration” was as clear as its end is nebulous. Let us surely not forget the over 2,300 soldiers who have lost their lives in this campaign. 

I remember Joe Rogan’s repeated retelling of others’ stories about how kind people in NYC were to each other for many months following the attacks. About how there was an unfamiliar yet welcome sense of profound calm, extensive camaraderie and general peace as crime dropped dramatically. I wasn’t there to witness this but the anecdotes of many back this up. 

So does Sebastian Junger’s book, “Tribe,” where he quotes people who, after experiencing such traumatic events as the London Blitz and the Siege of Sarajevo, strangely describe these awful times as some of the best of their lives. The sense of extreme communal bonding where all social stratification was thrown out the window is backed up by the precipitous drop in mental illness and crime statistics during and after these events.

I aIso remember the story of a family who lost their father/husband on 9/11. They spoke on a podcast — probably This American Life, maybe Radiolab — about their wish that sometimes they could forget what happened that day. Annual reminders throughout media and society make the hard edges of that memory difficult to soften. I hope they’re finding more peace as time moves on.

That story also reminds me of what the function and purpose of memory is. To consider the utility of living in the past versus being fully in the present. It reminds me to grieve the lost, learn the lessons of their loss, and then maybe move on. 

The stories of 9/11 and after, and other tragedies, remind me what it means to be human and how I can work to remind others that we don’t need tragedy to form community and care for others. We don’t need to rely on holidays or memorials to bring the gratitude or introspection out of us.

I went to see Jamiroquai in Forest Hills, Queens, this past weekend. My ass never stopped moving as I enjoyed one of the best concert experiences of my life; ask Shakira, the hips never lie. Leaving the bathroom after the show, I scanned the crowd to find the faces of my friends. Honing in on each stranger, I quickly became entranced in the thought exercise of guessing where each person had come from. 

As a native New Yorker, I recognized I’m often in a small minority in my own city. So many people here were possibly either transplants from around the country or the world. Even if they were native, perhaps they were first generation Americans as the children of recent immigrants. In whichever case, I was fascinated with this new game. I was enthralled with the reminder of how blessed I was to be in this magnetic, international city surrounded by an incredible diversity of souls. It only added to what had been and would continue to be a magical night for me.

I have heard that the spiritual path is not one of learning but of remembering. We come into this world with a clean consciousness, fully aware of who we are. We learn certain things like our name, how to walk and wipe our butt, and other relatively useful things along the way. We learn “good” things and “bad,” or at the very least about how to judge these things as such.

But in all that learning, we sometimes forget who we are. For my own part, on this day which also happens to celebrate the Jewish New Year, I will remember to be grateful for each day I’m given, and to continue anew on my path of remembering who I am and where I came from.