It�s a year later. I�ve been looking through my writing to try to get some sense of how this has evolved for me and, you know, it�s funny. I don�t think I�ve really written about this before. The attacks of Sept 11, 2001, I mean. Really dealt with it head on. In fact, I have tried real hard to ignore it and make it go away. Ha. Like that ever helps. Then last night my church discussion group tackled the issue head on. There were only five of us in this small living room, so it wasn�t like I could hide and not talk. I walked into that meeting wound as tight as a drum�arms folded across my chest. I knew what we were going to discuss and I did not want to discuss it. But I did. And I felt better.

9-11 is, for me, a plane crash story. Which is weird, I know, because the vast majority of people who died that day were not riding on planes. (Also worth noting: the even more vast majority of people flying on planes that day did not die.) But some loved ones of mine died in a plane crash a long time ago, and it was the worst thing I�ve ever experienced, and so that�s the prism through which I view this story.

This story also parallels another big event in my life: the murder of John Lennon. I was 13 years old when Lennon was killed, and though I wasn�t much of a fan before the event (I attribute this to ignorance, not dislike) it affected me deeply. That such a seminal figure could be brutally gunned down was a fact that I hadn�t appreciated before. I felt a tremendous loss of innocence. Really really bad things can and do happen. I guess I hadn�t really realized that before.

So, what does 9/11 mean to me? God, I don�t know. It�s a year later, and I�m still digging out of the rubble of my emotions. I�ve heard people saying that it will be much longer than a year before we (meaning our nation) have the perspective to make any sense of this. It was comforting to hear that. Don�t worry that you can�t yet process this event. No one can. It�s too soon. It�s still going on.

For now, all I can do is pick up pieces of the rubble and look at them:

There�s my American innocence. Were we really as great as we thought we were? Apparently not everyone thought so. And looking back, I have to admit to being somewhat embarrassed by our nation�s adolescent bravura. �We�re the greatest country on earth! We haven�t been attacked on our own mainland since 1812!� Anyone who�s played �King of the Hill� knows how that game goes. You charge the hill and knock off the crowing loudmouth perched at the top.

There�s my child�s sense of safety. He was only eight, for god�s sake. Already an antsy kid, he had nightmares and sleeping problems for months. Did you have to go after him? He has done nothing to you. Nothing. Take my sleep, fine. But leave him his. He didn�t deserve this.

There�s my ignorance of world events. Though it�s funny, at the time I thought I was fairly savvy. I knew nothing of Islamic culture. They were the ones who blew stuff up, right? I knew a little more than that, but not much. I�m glad to see some of that ignorance sloughed off. I�m not glad at the cost.

There�s my innocent pleasure at seeing a jetliner fly overhead. It used to represent travel. Adventure. Now it�s scary. Especially if I�m in a city when I see one go by.

Welcome to our world, say the three quarters of the population who live with fear and repression and hunger and without hope. I know these fears and regrets I�ve listed pale in comparison to what most other humans have lived with all their lives. I know to say �I�m scared now� infers a life lived previously without fear, which is to most an extraordinary privilege.

It was.