A Beautiful Day

It was such a beautiful day. When I think of 9/11, or talk about it with friends, sometimes I can't get past that sentence. It was such a beautiful day. Maybe some part of me doesn't want to go beyond that. My mind gets caught in a circling loop, unwilling to think about anything past how the sky was so blue and the sun was out and the air felt good, when it was just another pretty September day.

I was living in Dallas, TX and my 9/11 started out like everyone else's that morning. I got up and went to work. I had to get to the office early for a scheduled conference call. I didn't mind that, though, once I was in my car and driving towards work because it was a pretty morning. I remember thinking to myself that I should get up early more often. I was happy. A beautiful day does that for me.

I was only a few minutes from work, flipping through radio stations and as I turned into Starbucks for my morning coffee, I heard something about a plane crash in NYC. The DJ said it looked as if a small twin engine plane had hit one of the towers at the World Trade Center. And I thought, "uh oh, some pilot has had a heart attack and lost control of his plane."

When I got back into my car after getting my coffee, the DJ was still on the air talking. I remember the words he spoke and the tone of his voice even now, "a second plane has hit and it's a jumbo jet, this is no accident people." I remember it so clearly, that moment exactly. A beautiful day and a normally flip and brainless DJ telling me that somebody was flying jet airliners into buildings in New York City while I sipped my coffee driving out of the Starbucks parking lot.