Life in Maine

At times I felt like writing a million words. Other times, I didn't want to write a single one. There is little argument that life irrevocably changed, on so many levels, on September 11. But none of us really know how. There is just too much left unknown. Too much that is beyond comprehension. Too much uncertainty in what the future will bring.

Everyone has a story about what they were doing that day. Where they were when they found out about the unfolding tragedy. My story is unremarkable. I was in my office working when I heard a report on the radio that an airplane had hit the World Trade Center and that there were some really spectacular pictures being shown on TV. I figured it was a Cessna or some other small plane gone awry. I went downstairs and turned on the TV out of curiosity. I barely moved for the next three hours.

As I watched, I marveled at the fact that something the size of a commercial aircraft could hit these buildings and the buildings still stood relatively intact. I wondered where the airplanes came from, reasoning that someone must have hijacked some delivery aircraft, such as a FedEx plane. The thought that these "people" would intentionally crash a plane full of human beings didn't enter my mind at first.

I never expected the towers to fall. When the first one did, I was on the phone with my girlfriend. Realizing that I was most probably witnessing the deaths of hundreds of people, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Little did I know it was thousands.

Home alone, with nobody to talk to but the dog, I did just that. There was strange comfort in talking to somebody, and he was a very good listener. I told him I felt ashamed. Ashamed to be a member of the human race. To be part of a species that could systematically eliminate so many of it's own. We think of our pets, and of the animal kingdom in whole, as "lesser" beings, with inferior intellect and limited command of their universe. Yet I could only question where our "superior" intellect has gotten us. Or if we really were superior at all.

As the days unfolded, my attitude got a bit less pessimistic, in no small part due to the incredible outpouring of sympathy and support expressed by people throughout the world. When you are so used to hearing about people hating America and Americans, it was truly inspiring to see 200,000 people in Berlin gather to mourn for our losses. Similar scenes were repeated around the globe. Probably more than anything else, what I'll learn most from this experience is that the real world, beyond the headlines and TV cameras, is a much more humane place than any of us really give it credit for.

Another thing that I learned from this experience is an understanding of the sense of duty that our parents and grandparents must have felt when the country was plunged into World War I and World War II. Having been brought up during the Vietnam War era, I have always had a certain sense of skepticism as to the necessity of our country's involvement in conflicts around the world. The notion that these far-off conflicts were a threat to our freedom and way of life always seemed a bit far-fetched. But this time, there is no question that we can't simply look the other way and hope things like this won't happen again. If we expect our children to experience the freedoms that we had come to take for granted, we have to do what it takes to eliminate this lunacy from the planet, however difficult and painful that will be to achieve.

While we Americans and others around the world have stood resolute to this attack, determined not to let the terrorists have the upper hand despite the destruction they have wrought, the events have, unfortunately, affected the very foundations of our free society. Heightened security measures will limit our freedom of movement and privacy, and many situations that, in the past, could be viewed as "simple mistakes" or "a lack of common sense" will now be treated much more seriously.

A couple of years ago, when I was passing through security at Bangor International Airport, I placed my backpack on the x-ray machine, walked through the security gate, and reached for my backpack on the other side of the machine. The security guard stopped me and asked if I had a knife in my backpack. The question seemed rather ludicrous, since the backpack only contained my computer and some books and magazines, and I would never even consider taking a knife on a plane. I, of course, said "no," but he insisted that I empty the backpack of all of it's contents. I did, and there was no knife. He then looked through the pack, dug under a flap on the bottom, and pulled out a utility knife. It turns out that a couple of months earlier, I had been using the knife to pack and unpack while in the processing of moving, and had tossed it in the backpack and forgotten about it. I was both stunned and embarrassed, and tried to explain that I really didn't remember it was in there. I told him to keep it, but he insisted that he only wanted the blades and that I could keep the knife. And that was the end of it.

I can only imagine what would happen if that same scenario were carried out today. I most certainly wouldn't have been allowed to board the plane, and would likely have spent a bit of time at the local police station, or worse.

In the course of a few hours, life in Maine, as everywhere, got a lot more complicated.

Why?