Here I am, blogging, after year of debating whether or not I should. In my own typical fashion, I kept overthinking it. "Am I cool enough to blog?" "Will people want to read what I write?" "Do I even have interesting things to write about?" "Who are you kidding, no one really cares what you think about.... " Those thoughts repeated over and over and over in my mind and made me stick with the indecision of, "Eh, I'll think about it later." It is said that "the ultimate inspiration is the deadline". From firsthand experience, I know that to be true. But I also know that just as inspiring, is raw emotion. It makes us think, say, and do things we normally wouldn't on a daily basis.
Well, yesterday was the decison maker on starting this blog. The eleventh anniversary of September 11. In 2001, that date of 9/11 became a date unlike any other, and one that always makes the nation, and me personally, pause and reflect. I feel fortunate that I didn't know anyone on a plane that day, or anyone in the WTC or the Pentagon, so I still have a lot of separation from the rawness of that day. But that doesn't mean it didn't, and doesn't impact me at my core. I watch shows and seek out stories about 9/11 with such attention and focus that it surprises me. I sit in awe, I cry, and my sympathy turns to empathy as I watch people choke up about their experiences. The stories stick with me, and names of people I hear about I can recollect as freshly from my mind as if they are an old friend. Why do I get so emotionally wrapped up in it? Why do I take these things to heart so much, especially since I'm about as far removed as possible from them?
Then last night, it dawned on me. I was watching a show called, "The Falling Man". It was about the search for the identity of the man in the infamous picture who jumped from one of the top floors of the World Trade Center. The show was not so much about him, as about whether or not he should be identified so people would know his name and his life story, not just how his life ended. The debate about it was very personal for everyone, and by everyone, I mean people who didn't even know him, or know he existed prior to that photograph. Each opinion was said with such intensity, emotion, and heart, that it made me question whether or not he should be indentified, too. Why is it important to know the identity of that man? Or, why should he NOT be identified? It makes everyone, I think, question themselves on the deepest level that we all fear going to, and ask, "What if that was me? Would I want people to know it was me?" (Not that this poor man had the choice.)
I found myself talking to my husband about it, and we went through the debate for ourselves. The whys and the why nots. One of the nots we talked of was mentioned in the show. It was that in each war the U.S. has been in, there has been a tomb of "The Unknown Soldier". It puts a faceless name on all of the souls that were never accounted for. That in itself creates some separation for people. But then, when a name is put to a face, the separation closes in or disappears entirely, and it resonates on the deepest, rawest level we have. The loss becomes real, tangible, and it's harder to try and push aside. It's a tough level to face, and one I think many of us will try to keep away from whenever possible. As my husband and I spoke, we each came up with our own conclusion, which was that we didn't have an issue with someone wanting to find his identity. I can understand people wanting to put a face and a name, and a life to a man that the world now knew in the seconds before his tragic death. And on the flip side, I understand the people who think that his identity should remain a mystery. There is no right or wrong answer here. Just personal belief. And that got me to thinking about it on yet a different level.
For over a year now, I have been doing a lot of self-reflection and soul searching - trying to figure out why I am the way I am, good and bad. I've been searching for how I can change things about me I don't like, but that are part of my ingrained self. It seems selfish sometimes, but I know it naturally encompasses the greater aspect of being here - purpose.
I'm trying to discover my purpose. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who thinks that deeply, or at least, that I'm one of the few who will actually talk about it. But really, aren't we all looking for purpose and meaning? At some point, don't we all ask with the utmost wonder, "What is the meaning of me being here?" "What difference do I make?" I ask myself those things all the time. I want to know that I have impact in some positive way, I want to know my life matters, and that I matter to people. Knowing that I feel that way makes it easier to answer the question, "What if that was me" in that photograph. I know undoubtedly, that I would want people to know it was me. If it didn't matter, that would mean I didn't matter. And I want to matter and I want my life to have purpose. I think we all do. I like to think that "Falling Man" felt the same way. I'll never know, but I will remember him as a man who loved and was loved, and had a life - not just a public death.
So alas, my ultimate inspiration for FINALLY starting my blog was the stirred emotions I had last night as we all remembered the shock, sadness, tragedy, and yes, the heroism of that fateful September day. I thought that maybe I'm not the only one who feels this way, and maybe by doing the blog, it would be a different way of connecting with people, as I search for meaning in life and of my life as I write posts.
What about you? Do you think about your purpose, your lot in life? What inspires you to think of that, or what makes you run from thinking of it?
I really do want to know what you think. It is my hope that through this blog, you will want to open up the conversation, maybe say, "I think that, too!" or bring other points of view into focus. It's how we connect, learn, and accept one another. Perhaps, this is how we, or I at least, find meaning.
Until the next time I'm inspired, or overthinking...
