15 years

{1000 words, 5 minutes}

I'm always lost on what to do, if anything, on this day. Mostly I try to stay at home if I can, read story after story, go about my regular routine, and, like I do every year, slowly count the hours until the day is over. It seems wrong to do anything especially fun, but it also seems wrong to bury my head in work and research. To me, it doesn't hurt as much anymore, it's just numbness with a tinge of sadness. Reading the personal stories used to be traumatizing; now, few of them are new (StoryCorps has a new one) and some are even aggravating (NPR has focused on the health of the rescue and cleanup workers). 15 years is a long time. None of them seem to particularly stand out to me, except 5 years ago, when I wrote a note on facebook reflecting on the first ten years. Writing seems to be the best thing to do, so here I am again.

It's my first time being abroad on this day. I think it's a little easier this time around since I'm by myself and in a different time zone. It's usually unavoidable in the U.S. to see or hear something about the memorials or personal stories. I think the worst part of was being outside anywhere with other people. I was always anxious about meeting someone's eyes and seeing something that might betray the privacy of their emotional pain. Even though we all shared in that tragedy, it's like I'm afraid to see the truth in someone else's eyes and be forced to admit, yes, it's that day of the year again. I'm embarrassed to wonder if what they might be feeling. More than likely, they were more affected than me, who had no personal connections to New York or D.C. or Flight 93. For me, it's all impersonal compassion and injured patriotic spirit, but for any stranger on the street, it's impossible to know the mourning they hide on this day, 15 years later.

I've learned a lot about how the world views the U.S. since I've come to Norway. It's too much to write here and there's still too much for me to learn yet. Nonetheless, I'm somewhat thankful that Sept. 11th is on a Sunday this year, so I don't have to talk to anyone at work about it and satisfy any Norwegian's curiosity. Back at Georgia Tech, I remember the subtle differences in the way people talked to each other or how they walked by the memorial flags at Tech Green. It felt a little quieter, like people tiptoed around each other more. We tried to avoid talking about it, although, being graduate students wanting to do anything else besides research, we eventually did. Maybe next year, it'll be easier for me to learn something about the Norwegian perspective on 9/11.

"We will never forget" is becoming the anthem of this day. Listening to StoryCorps, I found one more reason why we will never forget: we will never stop healing. This is an emotional scar that every American who remembers that time will carry until they die and the next generation remembers it the way I remember the Kennedy assassination: a remote, more objective viewer of a different time through the lens of historical photographs and articles. I wonder if the children of the future see the events of our present lives through VR technology. Would that make them understand the trauma? Would it humble would-be planners of violence? Will we ever be able to communicate enough human suffering to teach peace?

Something is different with this event. We will never forget, especially not with the power of digital technology. There are so many reminders. In the years following, with the growth of social media, the memory is so much more visceral. There are the podcasts, the news stories, the photojournalism pieces, the interviews, the re-interviews, the new memorials, and the new gravestones. It's not just seeing our friends now, posting photos from the Sept. 11th memorial in New York, but sharing their childhood photos with the Twin Towers and having that memory reach so many more people than the few who might find it happenstance when flipping through someone else's family photo albums.

To me, there is just a slight, unsettling feeling in how this oft-repeated phrase is focused on the past. To be fair, there have been far more awful tragedies that have been forgotten in annual remembrances, so this anthem is justified. But this mantra is too short and too shallow for me. In my personal experience, if we as humans dwell too much on the hurtful memories of the past, on lost loves and longing, we will fall into despair. Yes, we should spend time in remembrance but that has to be more to it than that. Life has to be more than a history book; the past that we honor and grieve has to serve a purpose besides documentation. To me, the way out is only by the light of the future. When we spend time on the past, it is to remind us of our values, our decisions, and whether those are aligned. To calibrate our attention again, and focus on the precious things we love so dearly. To guide us in the uncertain future with hope, the only direct cure for despair.

Sadly, "hope for the future" isn't satisfactory to me either. The future seems more uncertain than ever, with ISIS, with terrorism, with North Korea, with global financial economies, with the election. The anthem I want is stuck at "we will never forget, and … " Maybe it's always been this way, and the only thing we have ever been certain of is the past as it slowly cures into place like concrete. Muddled at my predicament, I'm resigned to accept that if the future is more cause for despair, then perhaps it is OK to dwell a little bit longer on the past. For today, at least.