Remembering September 11

For some reason this year, the memory of Sept. 11, 2001, is so much more real, so much more impactful than any year before.

Is it because, now that I'm an adult and I know what it's like to lose people, I can somehow relate? Or is it just that now, a comprehension of the weight of what happened, of the grief, causes me to feel more than I did before?

I don't really know, but I do know what's true. People always used to say, "You will remember exactly where you were the day you heard the towers fell." And they were right. It's one of the few days I distinctly remember from high school.

I was 15 years old, a sophomore at Grand Blanc High School, and in my third period U.S. history class when one of my classmates came in and told us that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers. Not having been given any details, in my mind I questioned, was it an accident? Was it something small like a Cessna?

Throughout the day, it became more clear as the details were shared. By the time I was walking away from the bus stop after the school day ended, a sense of dread was filling what I remember to be a beautifully clear, sunny day. I walked toward the house where I was staying with some family friends, wondering what else was going on in the world. And hoping nothing was happening in Dallas, where my parents were still living.

It was strange to be separated from family that day, to know that miles stretched between, and to not feel entirely safe, wondering how many planes had been commandeered and where they were flying to.

When I got to the house I was allowed to briefly call my mom. Of course my family was safe. We were all watching tv, tuned in to the same images of the burning, then collapsing buildings. All of our minds were filled with similar questions. What was going on and why?

I remember President Bush giving his address. Saying that action would be taken, we wouldn't just sit back defenseless, justice would be served. I remember people loved him that day. They rallied behind him, cheering him on. He represented what we all felt in our hearts, that no one should be allowed to do this to us and triumph. His approval ratings soared.

Ten years have passed. It seems so strange to say. When things happen and you live through them, it almost feels like you'll be in that moment forever. That life will somehow stay as it is and you will go on being just as you are.

But this is not the case. Since 9-11, I graduated from high school and from college. I've landed jobs, I've traveled, I've made some of the best friends I could ask for. I've been in love and out of it, I've shared tears and triumphs and I've gone on living. So much has changed from that day, and yet I still remember it with clarity and now, even more understanding.

Today I read some letters written to people who had been killed in the attacks. I couldn't get through a single one without choking back tears. It may have been a decade ago, but time hasn't made a single person forget what they lost. I don't think another ten years will, either. We will always go on remembering.

And why is that? Why do we cling so tightly to these memories? Why don't we allow ourselves to forget? Because people matter. They are worth far more than anything else in this life, and if you look at something like Sept. 11, you will see why. You will see that people's lives were forever changed the day they lost their mother, husband, sister, boyfriend, cousin. And you will see that something this tragic causes us to cling to memories, to honor lives lost, in ways we remember little else.

Find someone you love this Sept. 11, and tell them what they mean to you. Tell someone why you appreciate them, why they are special to you. The time we have with the people we care for is so precious, and can be so short. So let's make the most of what we have, and never take for granted those we love.

I found the photos in this Sept. 11 memorial post from 2009 very moving, and worth sharing. (There is some graphic content, however, so please view with discretion.)

The Outsider's Guide to Fitting In: Being Single

Let's just get it out there now: I am single. (What? Did she just admit that in writing?!)

Yes, friends and random readers, the truth is, I'm about as single as they come. This has led to some interesting things over the years, which I was compelled to share in another edition of "The Outsider's Guide to Fitting In" (truth written in spoof-y sarcasm, gotta love it). This is for all you folks who haven't quite adjusted to the flashing neon label, or who won't have to because you haven't worn it since high school. Whatever the case, enjoy for your own benefit or at my expense.

Status: Single
You don't need to broadcast your relationship status on places like Facebook; it will get broadcasted for you. You don't even have to tell people you're single, they'll just know. So don't bother trying to hide it because you can't. It might as well be tattooed across your forehead which brings me to my second point...

You Need Help
Since you're a single adult, you must need help meeting people. You must be looking to meet people. You must want to meet people. People, as in people to date. And even if you think you're not looking, everyone else knows you are. So don't try fighting it, just jump on the band wagon. You're bound to meet someone great, like my cousin's neighbor's best friends' brother. He's single too!

We Have a Group For You
When you're an unmarried adult, you get to go to the SINGLE GROUP! (Freak out!) Yes, there is a special group for people just like YOU! Since you can't really relate to anyone who isn't single, you must spend all your time with this group of misfits. Don't worry though, the old marrieds will be making you some free dinners this week. Sort of an outreach thing...

So... What's Wrong with You?
Once you reach a certain age, if you haven't met the illusive "one," there must be something wrong with you. After all, most normal people meet someone and get married in their mid-to-late 20s. If you pass this bracket, people begin to question what your deal is. What's the issue, what's the catch? What's wrong with you?

Let Me Set You Up!
Besides the fact that you need help, people will be looking to set you up on dates. Beware the mom who starts talking about their single child, or the kid who starts talking about their single cousin. That's code for: I want you two to go out on a date. Beware, if they're older and single, there must be something wrong with them!

Have You Tried Online Dating?
"My son is giving online dating a go..." Yes, that will undoubtedly fix his singleness problem. If not, he can join the ranks in the single group and ponder what's wrong with him that he couldn't even meet someone on Match.com... My only word of advice when it comes to online dating: Be very wary. And that statistic on marriages? So not true.

You Can't be Happy Single
You may want to argue with this. Don't even bother. You're not happy. You can't be happy. Everyone else knows, there's no way to be happy and single. That's why, as long as you're not married, people will be looking to set you up on dates, without even asking you if you want to be set up. That's because they know, you're not happy. They don't have to ask.

Old Maid Stereo-Type
Should singleness be plaguing you into your elder years, be prepared to become the old maid. Or the confirmed old bachelor, if you're a guy. You're not the fun, cool, unmarried person. You're dumpy, frumpy and just plain old. Life passed you by and now people will look on you with pity as they ask themselves, "I wonder what's wrong with her?"

In Conclusion
Should singleness bother you... don't worry. There are plenty of people out there willing to help you out with your problem. Oh, and have you tried online dating?

Should you enjoy singleness... don't. Remember, you can't be happy. Unless... (gasp) are you happy?? No way! Me too!

What I Learned from... Getting Someone Arrested

Author's Note: This entry is a continuation of my series, "What I Learned from..." It's a series on life lessons and experiences I've had. Some, like this installment, are more serious. Therefore, readers may want to use discretion before reading this entry. I will, however, do my best to keep graphic content to a minimum. With that, welcome to What I Learned from... Getting Someone Arrested.

Some people call high school the "best years of your life." I used to think, "If these are my best years, I'd hate to see what's ahead." For me, high school represented the hardest years of my life for a long time.

It started when I was 15 and my family moved to Michigan. Scratch that, when I moved to Michigan without my family. I lived with some friends from our church for several months so I could start 10th grade on time.

Before moving to Michigan, I had lived a sheltered life in Dallas, Texas, attending private schools and being home schooled. I had a core group of close friends, and the most exciting things we did were try to talk to the boys we liked on the phone or go to Mavericks games. I never got into trouble, mostly because I never had the chance.

When I moved to Michigan, I started public school. Talk about a culture shock, and the kind of learning experience you don't send your kids to school for. It was a completely different world than anything I had ever experienced, and I did my best to remain invisible. Better to vanish in the crowd than stand out as the girl who learned a few new words this week or didn't know that smell was marijuana.

Somehow I got through sophomore year, blending and going fairly unnoticed. It was hard though, who wouldn't want to be like the popular girls and actually have a guy ask you to a dance? That's why, when junior year rolled around, and the good looking guy in my economics class started talking to me, I was soaking it up.

But, not all attention is good attention, as I started to learn. And maybe I had a sign hung around my neck that said "vulnerable" or "easy target" because it didn't take long for things to go downhill.

I learned later that it's called "sexual harassment" when people touch you inappropriately or say things of that nature. But when it was happening, something in my subconscious wanted it to make sense, wanted to write it off, tried to reason it away. Maybe it was just an accident, it could've been a mistake... But something else in my subconscious knew it wasn't an accident, it was wrong.

It took a while for me to bring it up. Honestly, I don't know how I did, it was so embarrassing. But somehow, in the car at a stoplight, I managed to tell my mom. That was all it took to start the landslide. Not a bad landslide, a good one. One that I didn't have to work at to keep it going. It went on its own.

My parents scheduled a time for me to meet with the private detective who worked for my school. That's when it really sunk in that this was a bigger deal than I had first thought. I didn't want to talk about what happened, so my dad did the talking for me. I remember feeling sick to my stomach, but instinctively I knew I needed to do this. The detective started investigating the situation right away, and then I knew it was serious.

A day or two later he pulled me out of class to give me an update. He had talked to the guy, who admitted to doing everything I had said. I was sort of shocked that he wouldn't protest it or lie and say he hadn't touched me. But the detective had it scribbled on his yellow legal tablet. It was official. And he was filing a warrant.

After that things went kind of fast. He got arrested, his family posted the bond, we went to court. Court was probably the scariest moment of all because I knew that I would have to face him. All I wanted was to not have to testify. I remember getting to the courthouse and being taken into a room with a bunch of lawyers in suits. They kept me there for a while because he was out in the hall. Everyone was stone-faced, but somehow I knew they were on my side and would protect me.

In the hearing, the judge said, "How do you plead?" And when his lawyer said, "Guilty," I knew I had won. I didn't really pay attention to the sentencing or what was said after that. It really didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that I had done it. I had spoken up, someone had listened and I had won.

* * * * *

It's been a long time since that day. But I carry with me always the things I learned. The biggest is that I have a voice. In fact, everyone has one, but not everyone uses it.

I learned that a lot of women do what I first did, we try to reason away what happened. It's a gut reaction to try to mentally "fix" it, to try to make it make sense. But anyone will tell you, it never does quite make sense. And when you realize that, you have one of two options. You can bury it down deep, ignore it and pretend it never happened. Or you can speak up, tell someone, and do something about it.

I think a lot of women choose the former, and suffer in silence. It takes a special kind to do the latter. But I realized something else, in being one of the ones to speak out, I didn't do it just for myself. I did it for the other women who might have been harassed by this guy. I did it for the other women who didn't know who to tell, who were scared no one would believe them, who felt defenseless.

In speaking out and finding my voice just once, I have found it over and over again. I'm not afraid to be the one person who calls someone out, who reports a wrong, who faces injustice head-on. I am not afraid to listen to someone else share their story, and support them however I can. I learned that I not only had a voice for myself, but I had a voice for others.

I also learned that having a voice can be hard and scary. There were so many times I wanted to back down. I wanted to just be done with everything and not have to face it. It's hard to be strong when you're looking evil in the eye. But I also learned that if you can beat it, you can beat anything. And once it was all said and done, I was so glad I hadn't backed down. And so I learned that I'm a fighter, and that quitting is never an option.

Finally, I learned that I want to encourage as many people as I can through my experience. Whether they have gone through something similar, or are currently experiencing it. Or even if they never have and never will. Everyone can learn from my story and stories like mine. The biggest thing people need when going through situations of harassment and abuse is support. Someone to listen, to believe and to care. I learned that's what we all need, and that's the kind of person I intend to be.

What I Learned from... Getting Dumped

I did not want to write this. In fact, I would be fine never admitting that any of this happened. I would be fine pretending like this part of my life didn't exist.

But the truth is, it did happen. And not wanting to admit it is a pride issue. When you have something that needs to be said, you can't let pride get in the way. So that's why I'm sucking it up and writing this. And because I think I'll be better off having gotten it out, than I will be keeping it in.

Stories like this all begin the same way, a boy meets a girl, a girl meets a boy. How, when, where are all details, technicalities. The point is they met, connected, maybe fell for each other. I met such a boy (maybe man) fresh out of college, full of hope, with a brand new degree and diploma to back it up.

The first job I landed fit exactly with my major. And while anyone would be happy finding such a perfect fit, I was distracted. All I wanted was to be with this person that made me feel seen, thought of, wanted. I don't know if it was the $500 plane tickets to visit him, the way he worded his feelings for me perfectly, or the fact that he was different from any guy I ever dated. I don't know, because honestly, I don't really remember why I was so sure we were meant to be. I just remember feeling it.

I was banking on us so strongly, that when presented with an ultimatum: jump or go back, I jumped. I was so sure of us, I was willing to leave everything I had (job, family, friends, security) for an unknown I felt fearless to face.

Essentially what it came down to was that I had to move, or we would probably break up, according to him. He wouldn't move for me, so I had to do it, Denver was better than Clinton, after all. At first I was a little hesitant, who wouldn't be? But something in me was so sure, so set, I did it. I moved 881 miles with everything I could fit in my car and no job prospects waiting for me, just an apartment and someone I said I loved.

I'd like to say that at least in the beginning it was euphoria. And maybe a few times it was. But more than once, I asked myself what I was doing. What was I thinking moving so far and leaving everything I had behind? I just kept coming back to that certainty, which before long, would fail me.

I thought I had been through some hard things in my life before I moved to Denver. And I had. But nothing like this. Sure, I had been through the average break-up, but there is something different when you stake your future on someone enough to alter your life for them. When you sacrifice the things you care about, severing ties one by one, for someone else, that changes things. It's no longer a simple matter of boy meets girl. It's suddenly huge and terrifying, like shoving off in a row boat to set sail in a relationship you hope will stay afloat.

This one didn't.

It started slowly, but it took only two months of living there for him to leave me. It was a long, brutal leaving process. Not the clean kind where it takes one day, one conversation. This one lasted over two miserable weeks, where I watched everything unravel, knowing I could do nothing. It was just like sand slipping through my fingers.

I don't know what was worse in those two weeks, my dreams or my reality. I used to have the most vivid dreams where he said he still wanted to be with me, then I'd wake up and realize nothing had changed. Reality was torturous as I tried to put on a happy face and pretend like everything was okay for the benefit of everyone else. And while so much from that time has faded now, I still remember how horrific it felt, like falling into a black abyss or ripping out my insides. It felt like torture.

And then it happened. He broke up with me. So simple sounding, and yet so much more than that. Because that Friday, when he said good-bye for the last time, I was left with no one. A stranger in a city I barely knew, with no family and only two friends. My only reason for being there walked out with a simple, "Good-bye, Elise," and never looked back. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a desert wasteland and I had no idea where to go from there.

* * * * *

It's a good thing that when we think we're setting out on our own, God goes with us. Even after taking matters into my own hands, he was still there, not letting me wallow in feelings of failure alone. That fact is probably the only thing that really got me through.

In the weeks after the break-up, I started reading Job. I told myself that someone who went through misery, albeit thousands of years ago, must've known what I was feeling. And something stood out to me in that book, so I wrote it on a card and stuck it on my mirror. After Job's wife told him to curse God and die, Job replied, "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?"

I asked myself that. Would I only accept the good and never the bad? Honestly, in that moment I couldn't totally understand it, but I began to as the days went by and the card sat as a silent reminder. And now when I look back, that's the first thing I learned: I couldn't just accept good; I had to accept the bad as well. Because the bad, while terrible in the moment, may not be so bad farther down the road.

In the months and year following the break-up, I slowly learned some important things that I didn't know I was learning.

First, I learned how to be self-sufficient. When you don't have anyone coddling you or taking care of you, you learn how to take care of yourself. I learned how to manage my life without help, and in so doing, I became stronger and more independent. I had my own apartment, worked up the ladder in my own job, paid my own bills and learned my way around a brand-new city. I learned how to be successful, in spite of my circumstances.

Second, I learned some things about myself, and because of that, I grew. I am not the same person I was in 2009 when he called it quits. In fact, I barely remember the person I was at that time. Those things I saw in myself that I didn't like, I learned how to change. I learned how to become my own person, and I learned who that person was. Now, I know myself more than I ever did then.

Third, I learned--surprisingly enough--how wrong he and I were for each other. Even though I felt like I failed in my efforts, I really didn't. I succeeded because the whole point of a relationship is to find out if it works. If it doesn't, you've succeeded in your goal just as much as you would if it had worked. Therefore, I learned that I was not a failure. I did what I set out to do, even if I didn't recognize that at the time.

Finally, I learned that you can't run away from God's plans for you, be it intentionally or unintentionally. Like Jonah, no matter where you try to go, God will get you back where he wants you. My story may not be as obvious as getting swallowed by a giant fish, but to me it was pretty close.

I left Clinton with the intention of never returning. My plan was to make Denver my home for a long, long time. And even after the break-up, I stayed because I've never been a quitter. When I put my hand to something, I see it through to completion. And that's what I did, because when God says something is complete, it's done. On the last Thursday in December 2010, God said that chapter of my life was done and shut the door on Denver. My giant fish was an airplane taking me back to where I started from, the place I never thought I'd live in again.

But now, here I am. I'm back in Clinton and while I don't know God's plan from here, I know I'm where I'm supposed to be. I feel so content and so happy, just knowing that this is where he wants me. I learned that no matter where I go, or what I do, his plans will always be accomplished. And that, despite the pain and trials and sadness, gives me hope.