Reflections

I often forget that I have been out of college for almost 7 years and that my age is more than just a number, but a reflection of time that has passed and events that have occurred. I was thinking about that this past week, with the passing of the sixth anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks. I was startled at the realization that it had been six years since that day--one that is surely indelible in most adult American minds. It was jarring not only because the day passed with barely a mention of the attack, but because it caused me to have this jolt of thinking about the highlights of the last six years.

And it made me remember, as the day normally does, where I was and what I was doing. We all have the epic moments--where were you when Kennedy was assassinated (no, I was not alive), or when the Challenger exploded or the Berlin wall came down. The Bush v. Gore decision. September 11. Some events resonate more clearly in our minds than others, some more permanent and alive, like a photograph gazed at for so long that you memorize not only the features of it, but the feeling encapsulated in that day--that moment.

The Senate was a heady place for a 22 year old, my dad used to say. And he was right. And the funny thing is, it remained this elevated, kind of sexy place before, during and after the attacks. We were at the center. We were the speculated 4th destination. We worked for the Boss who ran back into Russell "because he had staff in there!" We were stoic, in some senses, in our place on the hill. We were united, not only in the cause and the legislative tasks at hand, but in some sort of unspoken fear. I remember the days and weeks after the attacks as clearly as the day of. I remember after the attacks, after the anthrax letters, the phone call. At work. From my father. "DLS. Your mother would like you to come home now".

I left DC the weekend after the attacks. I went to Charlottesville on a Greyhound to feel something familiar and more removed. I got on the bus at Union Station and wanted to sink into my chair as we pulled out, onto 395. I was seated next to an older black woman who seemed friendly enough. I have never been one to be overly friendly to strangers. I would have sat the entire 2 hours reading my book and exchanging the most occasional pleasantries when necessary with her. But it's D.C., and everyone is curious about what everyone else does. She started a conversation and was asking me where I was going. I had graduated from UVA in May, I said. Going down to see some friends for the weekend. No, it wasn't really planned before this week, but I wanted a little break. Oh, what do I do? I work for the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Pause.

We looked over to see the Pentagon, still smoking, with the rest of the bus crowding to their windows, taking pictures. I wanted to throw up. She took my hand and looked at me and said: "Child, you are doing something wonderful. The eyes of the nation are on you and your bosses and the rest of the angels who are keeping this government working in the aftermath of all that has happened. You are a leader and you are doing a remarkable thing."

I wanted to cry. I certainly did not think anything that I was doing was remarkable. Certainly not merely showing up to work in the morning. The following weeks, particularly post anthrax letter (I answered mail, for God's sake! it was unnerving), I would get on the metro at Dupont Circle and arrive at Union Station and more times than once, would consider staying on and not getting off. I mean, it would have been easy enough. But I never did. We just kept doing our jobs, one day at a time, with more security posted and less of a sense of being secure.

And six years later we look back to see the other tragedies that have amassed in that time. Katrina. The Tsunami. Virginia Tech. Myriad volcanoes and earth quakes. War. Life and death. I don't think that every year there needs to be a great pause every time we hit an anniversary of ones of these occurrences. Some events mean more to people in the fabric of their lives than do others. This one struck me this year because I remember the reflections I had on the first anniversary, when I was in Mali, not even a month into my 27 month odyssey. That morning, like the day itself is clear: Standing in open aired mud latrine with a bucket of warm water to take a bath, watching the night sky fade, listening to prayer call being chanted from the Muslim mosque down the path from my host family's house. Thinking of how far I had come and how peaceful this new place was. And about how much that day a year before had affected me.

I guess it's the same as the feelings I had at the end of last summer. It's always good to have things that keep you grounded with a strong sense of perspective. This reflection is one of those for me.