Apparently, tonight is going to be one of those times when my worry box runneth over. For some people, their worry boxes only allow for a new worry when one moves out. Yeah. Mine's not really like that. Mine allows worries to stack one right on top of another; a never-ending series of frets about what I'm doing or not doing or being or not being...the list goes on and on.
At the moment, my worry box is consumed with obligations. Work, family, church, other kinds of work, more family, more church...you get the picture. Now some of these worries I suppose--no, I KNOW--I brought on myself. There are so many things I want to do that I have a difficult time saying "no" when opportunities arise even when the reality is that, like my worry box, I scarce have time to fit another thing in.
Family, I must admit, is not an obligation in and of itself. Therein lies much of my joy...but also many of my worries. Am I spoiling my son? Am I raising my daughter the way I should? Do I give them too much or too little? Do my attempts to give them memorable moments backfire? Should I make things simpler, or have I oversimplified? What example am I setting for them? Right now I am even left to worry about the the childhood memories and traditions of my son and daughter and how I'm supposed to create them.
I watch other parents--mothers who seem to have everything so together. The ones with clean houses and time to volunteer at school, the ones who instinctively know how much money to leave under a pillow, who are at home with their children and planning activities and taking them to swimming lessons. And I am left to worry about whether my apparent lack of that same mothering instinct and ability will somehow affect those two little dark-eyed children that began their lives first in my heart and then grew just below it.
And so now I type these thoughts, unsure why I am sharing them so late at night...or at all for that matter. But for some reason my worry box seems to ease, if only a little, as I do. So I hope, if you are reading this, you'll pardon me for being a little serious or sad for now. Perhaps it will mean a brighter day tomorrow.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
On beginnings, endings and 9/11
So today is 9/11. I, like many, remember where I was 8 years ago. I'd been married just a month, and the previous day had been my 33rd birthday. I was getting ready for work and happened to have the TV on. They were showing the first tower with its black smoke, and as they were talking, I watched the second plane hit. I remember what I wore, I remember making calls to make sure my brother wasn't in NYC, and listening to the radio and internet broadcasts all day. I remember that the managing partner of the firm in which I worked was stranded in an airport because the planes were grounded. And I remember that by the end of the day I just wanted to turn everything off and stop hearing about it all.
Eight years later, I find myself feeling much the same. I will admit that I am one of those who believe that had the planes struck in cities other than New York, we would have stopped dwelling on it long ago. I think Westerners, like me, have a different perspective on things and, certainly, don't generally think of ourselves as being nearly so important as those who live in New York or Washington DC or any other one of those cities around which the residents thereof seem to believe the world rotates. But it's not that I don't care about those who died on the planes, in the Towers, in the Pentagon or in a Pennsylvania field. Certainly, I mourned their loss then and I still find their deaths senseless and inexcusable. No--I believe that by lowering flags, reading the names and dwelling on it year after year it gives those who did it too much hold over us. Too much credit. Too much acknowledgment.
Instead, I prefer to think about how a country came together. I prefer to think of how the flag took on a whole new meaning for me--and how I cried when I saw it waving in the breeze. I prefer to think of how politics stopped mattering, even just for that little while. I prefer to think of the men and women who have since risked--and at times given--their lives in order to keep this sort of thing from happening again. I prefer to think of how we have gone on, perhaps wiser...perhaps not, depending on your particular leanings. I prefer to think of the children who were born on that day and thereafter, and the immense potential they have brought with them into this world.
So my question to you is this: Will 9/11 forever mean a day with wreaths laid and names read and bells rung, or can we make it more than that? A beginning, rather than an end.
Eight years later, I find myself feeling much the same. I will admit that I am one of those who believe that had the planes struck in cities other than New York, we would have stopped dwelling on it long ago. I think Westerners, like me, have a different perspective on things and, certainly, don't generally think of ourselves as being nearly so important as those who live in New York or Washington DC or any other one of those cities around which the residents thereof seem to believe the world rotates. But it's not that I don't care about those who died on the planes, in the Towers, in the Pentagon or in a Pennsylvania field. Certainly, I mourned their loss then and I still find their deaths senseless and inexcusable. No--I believe that by lowering flags, reading the names and dwelling on it year after year it gives those who did it too much hold over us. Too much credit. Too much acknowledgment.
Instead, I prefer to think about how a country came together. I prefer to think of how the flag took on a whole new meaning for me--and how I cried when I saw it waving in the breeze. I prefer to think of how politics stopped mattering, even just for that little while. I prefer to think of the men and women who have since risked--and at times given--their lives in order to keep this sort of thing from happening again. I prefer to think of how we have gone on, perhaps wiser...perhaps not, depending on your particular leanings. I prefer to think of the children who were born on that day and thereafter, and the immense potential they have brought with them into this world.
So my question to you is this: Will 9/11 forever mean a day with wreaths laid and names read and bells rung, or can we make it more than that? A beginning, rather than an end.
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