The 25th anniversary of September 11 is just a few days away.
And, like so many people, I’ve been thinking about where I was that day.
I wasn’t in the United States.
I was traveling through Europe with my then-husband, Stephen.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, we left Nice, on the French Riviera, heading toward Italy without much of a plan. We decided to stop in Monaco along the way and visit the palace.
We parked below and began the long climb up.
By the time we reached the main plaza, I was happy to finally be there. We were almost at the palace when Stephen suddenly stopped.
“Something is going on. We need to leave. Right away.”
I hadn’t noticed anything.
I protested.
What do you mean? We just climbed all the way up here! I want to see the palace!
But Stephen was insistent.
Something about the behavior of the guards in front of the palace had caught his attention. He couldn’t explain exactly what was happening, but he had a strong feeling that something was wrong and that we shouldn’t stay.
So back down we went.
We got into the car and continued toward Italy.
We had absolutely no idea what was happening on the other side of the Atlantic.
“America Is Under Attack!”
A couple of hours later, we decided to stop for the night in a little town on the Italian coast.
I don’t remember exactly where we were.
But I will never forget what happened when we walked into the hotel.
We handed our passports to the owner.
He looked at them.
Then he looked at us.
“Oh! You are Americans! America is under attack!”
We laughed.
We actually laughed.
We thought he was making some bizarre joke.
But he wasn’t laughing.
He spoke a little English and tried to explain what had happened. The hotel didn’t have CNN, and we didn’t speak Italian, so eventually he took us to our room and turned on the television.
And there it was.
The World Trade Center towers.
On fire.
Images of the Pentagon.
Smoke.
Destruction.
Chaos.
We stood there staring at the television, unable to understand the words being spoken on the Italian news but perfectly able to understand the images.
We couldn’t believe what we were seeing.
Our country had been attacked while we were wandering happily through Monaco and driving along the Mediterranean coast.
The world we had left that morning was not the same world anymore.
Trying to Get Home
We shortened our trip immediately.
The next morning, we headed back toward France and slowly made our way toward Paris so we could be close to the airport and return to the United States as soon as flights resumed.
Our original flight was scheduled for Saturday, four days after the attacks.
We eventually managed to get onto one of the first international flights back to the United States on Sunday.
Because Stephen’s children were waiting for us at home, we were given priority.
I remember boarding that airplane with very mixed feelings.
I desperately wanted to go home.
And I was frightened.
International flights were only beginning again. Everything that had once seemed routine about flying suddenly felt uncertain.
I remember thinking:
This airplane could be hijacked.
We could die today.
And I got on anyway.
We flew back to California.
We arrived safely.
And then I began witnessing something I have never forgotten.
Something Happened to Us
People came together.
They helped one another.
They cared about one another.
They reached out.
And it wasn’t happening only in America.
We had already seen and felt it while we were still in Europe.
People cared.
Back home, American flags seemed to be everywhere. Cars had them. Homes had them. People displayed them proudly.
But what affected me most wasn’t the flags.
It was what was happening between people.
For a while, some of the barriers between us seemed less important.
We had been reminded, in the most terrible possible way, that we belonged to one another.
People who might ordinarily have walked past each other stopped.
People helped.
People comforted.
People gave.
People prayed.
People loved.
And now, 25 years later, I find myself asking:
Why does it take a tragedy?
Why Can’t We Do This Every Day?
Why do we need something terrible to happen before we remember to care for one another?
Why can’t we live that way on an ordinary Tuesday?
Today.
Tomorrow.
Next month.
Why can’t we look at another human being and remember:
You matter.
I may not know you, but you matter.
We don’t need a national tragedy to do that.
We don’t need a grand gesture, either.
Maybe today you bring your neighbor’s trash can back from the street.
Maybe you share a meal with someone.
Maybe you call somebody you haven’t spoken to in a while and simply say:
“I love you.”
Maybe you let someone go ahead of you in line.
Maybe you smile at the person nobody seems to notice.
Maybe you offer encouragement.
Maybe you pray for someone.
Maybe you listen.
Maybe you give something from your reserve.
Maybe you simply choose not to add one more unkind word to a world that already has enough of them.
These are tiny things.
But imagine millions of us doing them.
Can We Change the World?
Some people may think what I’m suggesting is utopian.
Maybe it is.
I don’t think so.
I believe we can change the world.
Not by waiting for everyone else to change first.
Not by arguing about who is responsible for everything that’s wrong with it.
Not by waiting for another tragedy to remind us that we’re human.
We change it one person at a time.
One interaction at a time.
One choice at a time.
And it begins much closer to home than we sometimes imagine.
It begins inside each of us.
Come home to yourself.
Come back to your heart.
And then live from there.
Today, 25 years after a terrible day showed us both the worst of what human beings can do and the extraordinary love human beings are capable of giving one another, perhaps we can choose to remember the love, too.
We already know how to come together.
We’ve done it before.
So here’s my invitation for today:
Do one loving thing for someone who isn’t expecting it.
It doesn’t have to cost anything.
Nobody else needs to know about it.
You don’t need to post it anywhere.
Just do it.
And tomorrow, do another.
Because perhaps the question isn’t really:
Can we create a kinder, more loving and generous world?
Perhaps the question is:
What will I do today to help create it? ❤️