On September 12, 2001, I went to work just like a lot of people. I ate lunch, went home, probably had dinner, slept, etc. etc. In other words, a pretty normal day.

One part of me, looking back on how quickly life returned to normal for me (or how it never really became abnormal) feels almost embarrassed about it. Here is this major catastrophe, a criminal act, the murder of thousands of people for no other reason than they live and work in the United States on this particular day, and I can still work, eat, buy gas, watch tv, put kids to bed, and sleep myself, just like nothing happened.

Another part feels that this is as it should be, as it NEEDED to be, in fact. If we all changed our lives, our routines, even if SOME of us did (and I'm not suggesting that it didn't force change on many many people or that THAT is not right), then it's as if what the criminals wanted to accomplish, scaring us and haunting our thoughts, was accomplished.

I don't live in fear. I don't avoid tall buildings in Chicago. I don't avoid crowded venues, I fly whenever I need to or want to, I live pretty much exactly the way I did before 9/11. Life in these United States (as the old Reader's Digest section was titled) is still pretty good. Maybe there are some inconveniences in air travel, silly and sensible. Maybe there's an extra click on the phone line when my wife calls her grandma in the Middle East. If someone's listening, they'll get stimulating conversation about great grandchildren and cousins getting married and new houses and old ailments. (Not that it doesn't bother me, philosophically, that someone might be doing this - I think it's a slippery slope, once opened, if the wrong people get to use the slope.)

But my point is that remembrance shouldn't equate to fear or lifestyle changes. Even if it seems a little disrespectful to not make some sort of concession or sacrifice to the events of that day...