I remember September 10, 2001, with a vivid awareness, as if that day is frozen in time. It was an ordinary day, filled with the hum of a world that felt reliable and predictable. The air still carried the warmth of late summer. An awakening was waiting, as our sense of normalcy lingered in its final hours.
That Monday felt like any other. I was in my first “adult job” after college, still learning the rhythm of office life — the meetings, the deadlines, and the casual conversations with coworkers. Most evenings, I got home late, flipping through channels with the TV on in the background. I half-listened to the news while my thoughts wandered to plans for the next day. There was a certain comfort in that routine, a quiet assurance that tomorrow would unfold just like any other day.
We had no idea an awakening was coming.
I think back to how I used to sleep so peacefully, unburdened by the anxiety that has since become a constant companion. There were no color-coded terror alerts, no cycles of fear in the headlines. Social media wasn’t yet a relentless drumbeat of breaking news. On September 10th, I had never experienced news that leaves you in stunned silence, feeling utterly helpless. We still believed that our shores were safe, that tragedies of that scale happened in faraway places, never here, never home.
That evening, we were unaware of the awakening about to unfold. We didn’t realize how fragile our security was, with no extra checks or suspicious glances at fellow passengers. I didn’t think twice about boarding a plane or passing by a fire station. Those everyday moments would soon carry a different weight.
On September 10th, our concerns were different. We worried about the little things — traffic, bills, weekend plans. I remember wondering which New Haven nightclub we’d visit next or where my career would be in a few years. After September 11th, those concerns seemed trivial. Everything was stripped down to essentials — love, safety, survival.
In the past year, I’ve felt a different kind of awakening, a shift in how I see the world. The pace of life, the demands, the noise — all of it has pushed me to slow down and reconnect with the simple, essential things. This awakening has made me realize just how different the world feels now. I miss the little things from September 10th — a morning coffee without the weight of global headlines, a conversation without the shadows of shared tragedy. I miss feeling part of a world that felt whole, unbroken.
September 10th was a day when we were unaware of how fragile our normal was. We didn’t know that the next morning would bring a shockwave that would ripple through time, altering our lives forever. In a way, September 10th feels like a page from a history book, a time before everything changed.
Looking back now, after my recent awakening, I wish I could hold that day tighter. I want to cherish the peace and the freedom of not knowing what lay ahead.
It was the last day of innocence, the final breath of a simpler, safer world.
September 10th, 2001, was the last normal day. None of us knew. And now, in this new awakening, I am reminded of how precious, how fleeting, that normal truly was.
When I look at this portrait of the skyline as it appeared that day, 23 years later, I am reminded of a life that once was—a world that seemed so sure, so safe, now only a memory.
Jennifer Rogers says
This brought me to tears and still filled me with a sense of hope that we can get to that place of safety and hope again, as I board a plane on 9/11. It will always be the little things that matter. Thank you for sharing Bill.