After the first plane hit the tower I was caught with my pants down.  Literally.  I had been sleeping and woke up late, lazily waddling over to the computer with my pants around my ankles to check my email.  I had gotten a few news items in my inbox about a plane hitting the World Trade Center, so I put on the TV just in time to see a live feed of the second plane hitting the tower.

That’s when I knew, beyond belief, that it had been deliberate.

I called my mother and we chattered excitably over what just occurred, then called my then best friend, worried that he may have been at the WTC today with his girlfriend (who had a job interview there,) but thankfully it had been cancelled and he was safely uptown.

Reflecting on the day, the worst thing I can remember was the feeling of being incapacitated.  I didn’t have my own car, I had to go into work, and yet this monstrous thing was unfolding before my eyes, begging for a response.

The only response I could muster though was to go to work like everyone else did.  Even with this happening, work still had a sense of normalcy to it that drove me half mad.  I didn’t want to stay there.  I wanted to go out there amidst the carnage and DO SOMETHING.

But I didn’t.  I took in phone calls, performed my work duties, and twiddled my thumbs.

Even in the days that followed, when I was able to get closer and watch the smoke ascend from the destruction as I passed over the George Washington Bridge,  I still didn’t get involved as much as I wanted to.  For some reason I felt I could only watch, and that I was just too disabled, too scatter brained and too selfish to be of much use in helping with the recovery effort.

Looking back, I can tell you one thing:  that’s NEVER going to happen again.

Whatever disaster or calamity should strike us, I want to be there.  Whether it’s the fires of California, the flooding of Iowa or the hurricanes of New Orleans, I want to be there to chip in and do my part.  And I won’t care about losing time off from work, or that I’m putting myself in danger, or that I’m not simply not smart or strong enough to be of any use to anybody.

I’m done with selling myself short.  I’m done with walking on eggshells when it comes to my life.  I no longer want to be the bystander.  Now I want to be the doer.

In a way that falls in line with the dream I’ve had ever since I started taking blogging seriously.  I didn’t want the anchor of a dead-end job forcing me to be stuck in one spot while a nation in distress called for my help.

Really, more than anything, I just want to get out of this shell of mine and start living again, and by freeing myself, I would be free to help those in need as well.

That day will come soon.  I only wish though that it had come on 9/11.