On the day it happened, it was easy to write about it. The feelings were raw, and the fears were real. We mourned the thousands of citizens of the world killed that day by terrorists, we celebrated the heroic efforts of the rescue workers, and we lamented the loss of innocence.
We found we weren't invulnerable, but we still thought we were invincible. Maybe that attitude is what it takes to survive such horror. Maybe that attitude is what perpetuates it.
A year ago, on the first anniversary, I found solace in the company of forty thousand people in that most American of traditions, a baseball game. It was a game, but it was a solemn occasion. The memories were still real and still raw, and we'd gone through a year of war, instability, and an uncertainty that carried over into the very ways we lived our lives.
Now it's been two years, but the perspective gained with time is colored by the way we've responded. As individuals, we've dealt with the new reality the best we could. For the most part, we've moved on with our lives, to the extent that's been possible. We live in a different world, and I feel as if I also live in a different country.