Three years ago, I posted most of what I'd ever have to say about my too-close-for-comfort 9/11 experience. It feels like I posted it last year, and September 11, 2001, feels—on different days—recent and a million years ago. Nothing's changed; there are still grief tourists, but far fewer. And if we wait much longer to rebuild something at Ground Zero, terrorists will have to just blow up the empty lot in frustration.
For me, 9/11 was one of those things that happens that gives me a feeling of absolute dread about the point of life, like when I read about the polar bear that desperately swam across the ocean only to be shot dead, except it was an exponentially more damaging version of that and involved human beings and was not just closer to home but was at home. The metaphor is: Are we all just the polar bear? Is life the swim? Is there a bullet waiting for all of us once we reach the other side? Sometimes I fear the answer to all three is: YES.
Sorry for the abrupt mood-killer. I'm not an overly morbid person, but let's just say that while I'm usually smiling I'm not always happy about it!