Back to Normal
"We have to get back to normal. That was the popular sentiment. From the president to the self-proclaimed grief and terrorism "experts," everyone seemed to concur that the most effective way to respond to the horrific events of 11 September 2001 was to simply get back to normal.
On 9/11, America suffered a tragedy of few, if any, parallels. In a well-organized plot, terrorists transformed four hijacked commercial planes into fuel-filled, flying weapons of mass destruction. The aftermath—over three thousand deaths, untold injuries, and emotional impact, two 110-story World-Trade-Center towers completely demolished, massive damage to the Pentagon, mass fear, mass anger, declarations of war, a shaken economy, altered lifestyles, a shaken America.
The days after the tragedy saw astonishment give way to sorrow, then anger, then national pride, then a sense of determination. And that steadfast determination could be heard just about everywhere—via the airwaves, from neighbors, from coworkers, from strangers on the street, "We can't let this act change our lives, we have to get back to normal".
We have to get back to normal.
I still remember that Tuesday like it was yesterday. What I remember is that as the tragic events of the day unfolded, somewhere between disbelief and grief, something else happened. Our priorities changed. Work became significantly less important. People called family and friends just to check on them—to let them know they were loved. People went home that day and talked with their children. People hugged (I mean really hugged) their loved ones.
In the days immediately following, people canceled unnecessary business trips. Families spent more time at home together. Church pews were occupied like so many years ago. Firefighters and policemen were warmly recognized and hailed as heroes. Collectively, we slowed down and focused on the truly meaningful. We argued less and thought about people and their feelings more. Seemingly, we discovered just a taste of the way things used to be, what our grandparents, and their grandparents, knew as "normal."
Maybe life's trials and tribulations are supposed to have purpose. What if these events exist primarily for the purpose of presenting us with the opportunity of choice?
In response to these events we can choose to grow—or not. We can choose to search for deeper meaning, to gain a little more perspective—or not. We can choose to take note of and appreciate the countless blessings and people that enter and touch our lives—or not. We can choose to be open to the purpose and opportunities for psychological and spiritual growth presented by events that happen in our lives—or not. We can choose to slow down, to spend more time on the truly important and purposeful things in life—or not. We can choose to be inspired, to strive to make a difference in the world around us—or not. We can choose to work less and play more—or not. We can choose to strengthen our faith and our compassion. While choosing not to forget, we can choose to channel our energy in a positive fashion. We can choose to grow.
Merely months later, it seemed our shift back was complete. And why not? Our memories tend to be of the short-term variety. Typically, we've been conditioned to, when we experience pain, declare that we're past it, effectively put it out of our minds and hastily get back to normal. As a result, we forfeit our opportunity to grow.
One incredible story from September 11 is that of a young lady in her early thirties, working in the World Trade Center that fateful morning. Upon feeling the impact of the plane striking the structure, she left her desk intending to vacate the building. While making her descent down the stairwell along with others, an announcement came over the intercom. The damaged area had been secured and everyone could return to their offices. Ignoring both the announcement and countless others changing their direction, she listened only to the inner feeling telling her to get out. At about the fourth floor she felt a rumbling. (What she felt was what we could only watch in horror on live television.) The building collapsed around her, and all she could do was ride the falling mass to the ground.
In darkness, in complete and eerie silence she found herself, buried in the debris that was, only seconds before, the world-renowned 110-story World Trade Center building, south.
With a heavy object preventing movement of her lower body and no light or sound to speak of, she could only yell for help. Those calls went unheeded. By the next afternoon she was losing hope that she would ever make it out alive. She prayed, asking God for a sign, anything that could offer her hope, anything that would give her the will to go on.
A short while later the sound of tapping cut through the darkness. She called out, someone responded. She managed to wiggle her hand through the debris above and a firefighter grabbed it. She was the last person to be rescued from the catastrophic scene.
Watching the still-somewhat physically and emotionally shaken young woman tell her story from her hospital bed a couple months later, a tear made its way from my eye. As the young lady thanked God for blessing her through a mixture of smiles and tears, I found myself wondering to what degree her life had changed. I wondered whether she was concerned about getting back to normal. I wondered whether normal had taken on a whole new meaning in her life.
In the weeks following the tragedy, our collective anxiety and shaken sense of security caused us to pause and re-evaluate our daily activities. Our pace slowed, our priorities shifted, loved ones knew they were loved, heroes were found in our midst, the simple things in life, the relevant things like family, compassion, trust, safety, sacrifice, time, and love became a little more important. Our priorities were in order. Home, once again, became the place where our hearts were.
Unfortunately, time doesn't complement a short attention span. Since the tragedy, we've managed to regress back to our September 10 perspectives. Importance has again been superseded by urgency, home has again been superseded by work, reflection has again been superseded by trivial pursuits. We no longer speak to strangers on the street. We no longer hug (I mean really hug) loved ones. Our heroes again spend the bulk of their time in stadiums and arenas. Time is again something we find on a watch.
While most other voices have long since quieted, I continue to call for us to get back to normal. But it's not the normal of today, or of September 10, for which we should be striving—it's the normal our great-great-grandparents knew, the normal we were collectively well on our way to knowing in the latter part of September 2001.
That's the way I would prefer to live my life, and that's the kind of world I would prefer to live in. What about you?"
D Anthony has a special style and grace with the written word. In his inspirational book titled The Nurse in the Delivery Room Slapped Me...Once, the good news rings through on every word. The reality is the fact that all people have a choice. All people can lead inspired and motivated lives. All people choose to live the life that has been given to them. Through the ages, the subject of inspired living has been written about, talked about, speculated upon and now is the time to choose how to live. In this moment we choose our detiny and our future. D Anthony's message is placed with loving care to people who are struggling and striving with daily life. His writing is simplistic and straight to the point.
D Anthony-Inspirational Author
http://ststhebook.com
http://inspirationalpoemsandbooks.com
