You can’t really plan where you’re going to be on the worst day of your life. And it’s hard to imagine that the worst day of your life might also be one of the worst days in modern history.
It has made me realize that I have abilities— physical, analytical, intuitive— that other people don’t have. When you see someone struggling with something, something that would be a snap for you because of your strength, size, or intellect, then help them out!
How would I react if I was placed in the most dire of circumstances, forced to fight for something important to me? Would I have the salt to perform, to do my job in the face of death or facing the fear of death? Could I overcome that fear and react?
It’s funny how faulty perception can work to your advantage in a situation like this. Even though you felt the impact and you felt the building shaking— and all of that felt catastrophic— you never think you are in real danger. You don’t know what real danger is, because you’ve never been in it. That ignorance may have been the only thing that kept me from lapsing into petrified terror.
If we weren’t moving, my mind shifted away from hopeful thinking about the next move to fearful thinking about why we were stopped. Any restriction of movement compromised my sense of invincibility and control, the belief that I could get out of a situation because of my speed or my strength. If you trap me, take away my ability to move, then who am I? I wasn’t trapped helping this woman. I was merely slowed. As long as I was moving, I was still in control of my situation. When I wasn’t moving, I was not in control; I was being controlled.
Offering to comfort another was one of the best ways to feel some power and control in what was a helpless situation. Little gestures like that, no matter how ineffectual, reminded you of your humanity. Those little gestures kept me grounded in reality, kept me sane, and kept me moving forward.
Under that truck, I measured my life by what I would have lost if I didn’t make it out. The answer was simple: the human connection to the people I loved.
Work was where I had spent most of the hours of my life. The last few days were a massive interruption of that routine. Since that “interruption,” ten years ago, it has been incredibly difficult for me to return comfortably to a sustained “work” routine of any kind. It no longer occupies that same place of importance in my life.
The way I see it, she is a woman who had sustained a dignified battle with rheumatoid arthritis since age three. She worked daily to eliminate dependence. In our story, on 9/11, she was the very thing she’d spent her whole life trying not to be: a victim. Why would she want to celebrate her victimhood?
After the incredibly positive experience with Oprah, I decided this is worth sharing. I believed it was important to say that in the midst of so much loss—in the wake of so much horror and in honor of so much sacrifice—there is so much value in staying together.
I now understood in my core that the only forces of the universe that held sway were randomness, luck, and indifference. And that it was, above all, beyond my meek powers to control any of it.
Here’s the thing about isolation: It’s not just about being alone, by yourself with nobody else there. It’s also about feeling alone in a room full of people, people you know, people you love. And there’s no lonelier feeling than that.
Joy sat me down. “Listen to me, Michael,” she said. “When I first met you, you were a glass-half-full kind of guy—the most positive person in the room. That’s who you always were, wherever you were. You are now totally the opposite of that person, and 9/11 was where it all changed. Just after 9/11, you at least thought you were a lucky person. You thought that 9/11 was a reason for you and others to be even more grateful and more appreciative of all the little things in life. That’s not who you are now. You are angry and bitter. You fought so hard to get yourself and Tina out of that building. You fought so hard to stay alive while you were choking under that truck. And you did stay alive. Here we are, years later: There’s no smoke, no fire, no building collapsing around you, but you’re letting it crush you. You’re not even trying to beat it.”
I don’t need answers. I just need to do the next right thing. I just need to remember what was good in the first place: help people. Stop looking for meaning. Stop looking for the why. There is no answer. There is just the doing.
It was as if 9/11 happened, and then, for only a brief moment— during and shortly after the tragedy—the world stopped being a discordant mass of a billion competing and conflicting agendas and remembered its common humanity. But then the world quickly, unconsciously returned to business as usual.
The only reason I got called a hero is because I got caught doing what so many others did as well.
9/11 was the worst attack ever on American soil. To this day, there is no formal, official national observance. There is no united national symbolic gesture.
I propose a 9/11 National Day of Service (a.k.a. Be Kind When Nobody’s Looking Day). Every year on 9/11, in observance of the events of that day, each of us, at least once that day, should do something kind for somebody else and not get caught doing it. That’s the right tribute to the heroes of 9/11—the firemen, the co-workers who stuck together, strangers who comforted the injured and scared, the volunteers who dug for the remains.
This is how we should remember 9/11. By doing what the heroes did. If each of us does that—even if only 10 percent of us does that—imagine what a day it will be in this country.