Top of the World.

BEDS Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago 

This is my dad and a very teenager-y me who still thought I could get away without bras (you can't tell in this picture, but someone really should've corrected my error). The importance of this photo can't be seen; I have to explain it.

This picture is from my dad's former office, located on what was the sixty-fourth floor of World Trade Center One.

(Before I go on, my dad is fine. Yes, he was at work on September 11th, but he was able to get out in time.)

I visited his workplace for probably the third time in my life a mere two weeks - to the day - before the buildings came crashing down. We also visited the South Tower, where you could go to the top and look out of huge windows at the city below. It was actually a wonderful day and I'm glad I got to experience it.

Unfortunately, this photo only brings sadness into my heart. It was my dad's office, where he kept knick knacks and photos, the place that was essentially his home away from home. To know that all of the things in that office were reduced to ash... it brings a realness to what happened that day. It's a sober reminder of what my dad had to go through when he left in the middle of a confused frenzy on that sunny September morning only to turn around and see that the place he worked every day was suddenly gone.

I'm so grateful to have my father, safe and sound, because I know how many people lost loved ones. But the events of that day took something from my dad, something that would be hard to replace. They took his sense of security and instilled in him a sense of anxiety that won't ever go away. I wouldn't say he's that noticeably different after what happened, but I know he is. Because there's no way you can ever erase something like that from your memory.

things that changed her life.

This is a post inspired by Amy over at Just a Titch, whom I adore.

"There are some moments that change your game, your view, your life. They start out normally, but well, they never quite end that way, do they? This is one of mine."

--

{For the past few years, I told my September 11th story. It was an earth-shattering day for me, but for the most part, I was numb. That inability to have any emotion got me through the day without any tears or real feelings at all; it was too surreal for me to take seriously. But I still find it important and, if you weren’t a follower of this blog last September, I encourage you to go read my story. Today, though, I’m going to talk about something else.}

After waking up on the morning of September 12th, 2001 and coming to the realization that school was still in session, I had a small panic attack. Why isn’t school canceled? Hell, why isn’t life canceled? I cried, fought, and begged to stay home, in disbelief that my parents had seemingly no sympathy for my anxiety. I angrily boarded the bus and somehow made it through the day.

I got through it.

That day, girls who knew only my name and the fact that I had family in the Towers passed me in the hallway and warmly asked if everything was okay.

That week, my best friend – the only girl I knew from middle school that was attending my new school – sprawled out on my living room floor with me, crafting up a red, white and blue storm. We strung together bracelets and stuck magnets on the back of American flags made of foam, selling them at school and on the main road in town and donating the profits.

By the end of that month, things had mostly returned to normal. I was once again concerned with making friends, getting used to a new schedule, and finding my way around my new school. Fear was lingering, but I forced it away.

A lot of people comment that 9/11 was a turning point for our generation, that it forced us to grow up fast. It did, even though the repercussions aren’t obvious when I look back and recall my seemingly regular freshman year experience. Then again, I don’t know if I would’ve been as open to the kind words of classmates or had the initiative to organize a impromptu two-person craft sale.

I do know that what we saw and experienced that day was sealed in the hearts of my generation during our tender teenage years. We saw planes hit buildings and people reacting in horror and shock; we heard, on video, the sickening sound of a second low-flying plane screeching into the city and colliding with what we imagined was an indestructible tower. There are heartbreaking pictures of people – victims – hanging out of windows, or covered in soot, or looking lost, confused, and afraid.

We tuck most of these memories away, all of us, in a spot in our minds that rarely sees the light of day. It’s not until the calendar changes to September and all of those images show up again, reminding us. For me, there’s the added emotion of reliving that day. Or wondering what would have happened if my two-weeks-prior visit had instead fallen on that day. Or putting myself in my father’s shoes.

That’s how I really had to grow up. I had to take my exposure to these terrible things and find a place in my memory to store them. I had to develop the strength to keep the scenarios from running through my mind at any given time. I had to face the harsh realities of the world, acknowledging their existence but continuing forward with life in spite of it.

The emotional and mental growth that should have happened slowly over my four years in high school – and even into my first years of college – happened in an instant. One day I was worried about how my uniform looked and if my homework was going to be hard; the following day I became familiar with the notion of terrorism and how there were people who wanted to hurt us.

It was a trial, but I got through it. And, as with anything in life, it only strengthened me.

things that changed her life.

This is a post inspired by Amy over at Just a Titch, whom I adore.

"There are some moments that change your game, your view, your life. They start out normally, but well, they never quite end that way, do they? This is one of mine."

--

During the summer between sophomore and junior year of college, I developed a crush on a friend, a bad habit I seem to be unable to break. Fall semester of that year was spent over-analyzing every conversation, every comment, every action – my roommates would nod their heads, assuring me that I wasn’t making up the flirtation and the chemistry. I was always worried it was all in my head, but with three other people confirming that it wasn’t, my confidence was built up.

I made a decision at one in the morning on Christmas Day. It was the first time I was making a move regarding a crush I had, and I was going to do it via text message. I am not courageous in any way, and even just sending a text message was incredibly difficult. But, inspiration struck and I composed it and before I even had time to think twice, I hit send and it was on its way.

For a brief moment, I was flying. I felt invincible, having done something I never thought I’d have the courage to do. Within minutes, however, panic set in at the complete realization at what had been done. I frantically tried to contact my friends who immediately applauded my bravery. Clearly they knew how monumental this was.

When push came to shove, it turned out to be a case of bad timing and complications. I’m still not sure what was complicated, although a few months later it became apparent that he was seeing another girl. For a few months I wished he would explain himself, but eventually I settled into the fact that I wouldn’t ever know what had been going on between us.

To this day, this is one of most courageous things I’ve ever done. My friends still congratulate me for having the guts to do it. I was always the timid, quiet girl, who kept everything to herself and would dwell on crushes without taking action. Sending that text message was going against everything in my nature, every instinct to keep quiet and avoid embarrassment and hope that he would take the first step for me.

I can’t say for sure if this experience makes me more or less likely to do it again in the future. Because I was essentially rejected, I went through the “worst case scenario,” but it’s hard to know if that’s a good or bad thing. If I think about my current crush (yes, I already have one, shut up), in theory, I want to be able to say I would do something about it, but chances are I’ll just sit and wait. I think too much and am analytical to a fault, so I don’t think I’d ever reach that level of assuredness I’d need in order to do it again.

All I know is that it taught me that I could do anything. It showed me how damn difficult it is for all of that pressure to typically fall on the guy to say something first. It made me realize that I wasn’t a silly, immature girl anymore, but that I was growing up and things were changing.