Tuesday, September 11, 2012


People (people from the South) often ask me if I ever feel unsafe living in New York. My response is always, "Of course not. I'm more terrified riding along on a small country road at night than walking by myself across Broadway at 1 a.m." (don't worry mom - I don't do that). Though, I think it's a fair assumption from them, thinking that Manhattan could be scary. I mean, there are a lot of crazies on this small island, showing their faces in pretty much every neighborhood or subway. You really don't have to look that hard to find them.

But, one thing I have learned in my six years here is that New Yorkahs (said with an accent) are actually kind. They may not open the door for me at the bank or say, "How y'all doin'?" or even smile at me as I pass them on the street. Yet, I know that if I'm ever in real trouble, someone would stop and help. Why do I know this? Well, because I live in Manhattan, where 11 years ago today, the city, along with the rest of the country and world, watched as we were attacked. I was just 17, sitting in AP history class at Sanderson High School in Raleigh, when the planes hit the towers. Shocked. Saddened. Horrified and Scared.

Though I didn't know anyone that lived here at the time, I have listened to many accounts of that awful day from co-workers who were here and experienced it first hand. I've watched tv specials, read the stories, visited the Memorial site, listened, listened and listened. What's the same from all those stories is the acts of kindness from individuals that day - many who saved lives and helped others get to safety.

Today, on this beautiful fall morning (which 11 years ago was a beautiful Tuesday morning too), I thought for a moment of all those individuals who died on September 11, 2001. And, as I passed a few crazies on my way to the office, I did notice New Yorkers acting a little kinder than usual - smiling and remembering - and I felt safe.

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