I never know how to behave on this poignant day. If I don't laugh, indulge in guilty pleasures, tell a joke, go about my life as normal, I'm allowing "them" to win. But if I do these things, I have somehow forgotten what happened on this day five years ago, I'm not remembering those who have died or the survivors and I am not paying homage to the firefighters and police who lost their lives trying to save others. I feel guilty.

I am on the cusp of Gen X and Gen Y. I remember the Challenger and though it was a tragedy, it was not violence. The First Gulf War took place while I was in high school. I remember it, but not for what it really was. My memories are the memories of a mellow-dramatic teen, someone not taking into account the big picture, only worrying about the yellow ribbons and the musical tributes between classes, sports, boys and a part-time job. Growing up in an area far away from any major city and in a family where the television was not a focal point, I was generally sheltered from the woes of the world. Until 9/11 happened, wars and violence were history and what movies were made of.

I'm not going to write about remembering today or how we should never forget. Like a Hallmark condolences card, this sounds like something that should be said but in reality it's a mockery. Who could ever forget? I remember the weather, what I was wearing, what I was doing, the songs on the radio on the way to work that day, the confusion, the chaos, the days, weeks and months following. I lost co-workers and neighbors and I lost the ability to feel safe and secure. I now know that tragedy can strike at any moment and there is no such thing as job security. When I hear a plane flying too low or loudly over my head, I worry and remember the nights following the attack, the strange silence in the sky with the occasional boom of fighter jets. When I fly, I watch my surroundings and confidently pre-plan an intervention, if needed. When I hear the emergency broadcast system alarm, a fire alarm, a public announcement, I no longer ignore it. If I see or hear the date in any capacity, I feel solemn. I feel solemn for what I've lost, for what others have lost, for the victims and how they felt during the event or right before they died, for the changes in the world, for the future, for what might happen next. I wish a name had been created for the day instead of using the date.

In all honesty, besides a tinge of discomfort in not knowing how to react, I don't feel any different today than any day. I'm not sure if I haven't moved on, if it's effects will last a lifetime or if the media has kept that day in the forefront of my mind all this time. Time will tell. It's not as if I don't laugh or live my life, but I can't say there has been a day I haven't remembered September 11. Even though I'm supposed to be rah-rahing New York as one of the greatest cities in the world (and it truly is), I am looking forward to being in a completely different place where reminders aren't around every corner. My friends and family in other timezones don't seem to remember it like those of us over here. For many, it was a distant event, memorable for sure but not like here. Maybe I'm still naive in thinking that it won't happen elsewhere or that I will feel different, but somehow it still feels comforting.