The 9/11 Hug

I was in Las Vegas when 9/11 happened. Where were you?

Everyone remembers. It’s that kind of event.

Shortly thereafter I was on an empty flight to Tokyo.

I remember thinking, I’ll never look up at the sky at a plane the same way again.

A few months after the attack, I finally got to my hometown, New York City.

The skyline looked odd without the Twin Towers.

Sad.

Less proud.

Vulnerable.

The streets were at half speed. Some hustle. Not much bustle.

New York was down, but not out.

Architecture frames New York, but humanity is the subject.

The people of New York are what make New York, New York.

And while I remember what Bruce Springsteen called, “My City of Ruins,” there were also signs of hope.

You see back then, you’d walk in the streets and look your fellow New Yorkers in the eye.

You looked and they looked back.

You smiled, they smiled.

We had a connection.

And if you were lucky, you might see someone you knew — or frankly, someone you only kind of knew, and you’d give them a hug.

A 9/11 hug.

A hug that said we are in this together.

9/11 was the end of so many things, but it was also the beginning of a lot.

From 2002 to what I call “The 19th of Covid,” New York took off on a spectacular run.

A lot of people seemed to like one another. A lot of people seemed to believe in one another.

We don’t have that feeling today. Far from it. We are now two seemingly separate nations here in the “United” States.

But we have more in common than we might think.

And I don’t believe we need another earth-shattering calamity to prove this.

I think we can connect on a more basic level.

It starts when you look someone in the eye.

Smile.

Hear their story and really listen.

And maybe, just maybe, the 9/11 hug will come back.

Maybe.

I hope.