09/11/2026
As a 17-year-old on 9/11, I was old enough to bear witness, but not quite grown enough to understand.
I was a senior at a high school surrounded by cornfields who, just two days earlier, had received my early-entrance acceptance to my dream school in Washington, DC.
A history teacher rushed into my econ class and urged my teacher to turn on the TV. That's when the 2nd plane hit. I knew my dad was at O'Hare Airport for a meeting, but once I knew he was ok and was driving home (perks of my mom being a school counselor), I felt "safe," which, now, after 20 years of living in the DMV, and hearing harrowing stories of what my clients, neighbors, and friends experienced, I realize was an absolute luxury.
I didn't have a clue that this day would change the trajectory of pretty much everything. But my parents knew. They knew the world they had been raising their kids in had changed.
As graduation approached, I applied to be my class's graduation speaker- and was chosen. The admins who chose my speech, however, suggested I not bring up 9/11 because "we want you to keep things light."
And thus began the origin story of what would become my lifelong personal brand: a well-liked, well-intentioned, and just annoying enough person to be a highly effective pain in the ass. (Because if you're reading this, you *know* the final speech I turned in and the one I actually read were slightly different)
Many of my classmates chose to pause college and felt the call to join the military. Others shifted gears for one reason or another because of the attack and the fallout. It was going to be a big part of all our stories, like it or not. And it was.
And still is.
I think 17-year-old me understood something that I didn't yet have the life experience to articulate: some things are simply too important to "keep light." Some moments demand that we bear witness, talk about them, and refuse to look away just because doing so would be easier.
Twenty-five years later, I understand so much more about that day than the girl sitting in a classroom surrounded by cornfields possibly could have. I'm glad she knew enough not to keep it light. I'll continue to keep it that way.
