Thanksgiving 2001

Autumn of 2001 found me in New York City working twelve-hour days at the Worth Street Assistance center for victims and survivors of the Trade Center collapse. I couldn’t call it an attack at the time because I did not want to think that something like that could happen, it made no sense to me, made me question humanity, made me question and doubt myself, my beliefs and my world view. So when I talked about it to the dozens of people I saw every day I referred to it as “the collapse”. These were days of emotional exhaustion when one heartbreaking story would be followed by another and another and everyday there would be dozens more. By the end of each day, all of us workers would be numb, we endured by following a routine: mine was leaving the office and walking the dark streets to the subway then a twenty minute ride on the number 6 to midtown, some dinner, sleep then to wake to the same routine six days a week.

I will admit feeling out of my element, being from the quiet rural, natural world of western Montana, I was the stranger in the concrete and cacophony of the city. The expression, “feeling most lonely in crowds” also applied. In my times alone I would walk for miles from Grand Central Station to the United Nations, to the NBC studios, and on Sundays up to Central Park, the Guggenheim, the Metropolitan, Lincoln Center.

Looking back now, it seems like aimless wandering as an escape from work and as a diversion from the tragic stories and realities of the collapse.

One day after walking the route from the hotel to Central Park, to the Met, to the Dakota, to the Museum of Natural History, I chose to cut through Central Park on my way back. Just past Strawberry Fields, A couple coworkers were walking from the opposite direction. We stopped, talked and I invited myself to join them. One of those people, a young lady, became my closest friend.

I know I would never have gone to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on my own because I can feel claustrophobic in a mass of people. But when asked by the young lady, I did not hesitate to say yes.
It required us finding a spot early, before 7:00 am, and standing in the cold and waiting for hours before the parade started. Despite the weather and the crowds and noise it was comfortable, amusing to hear the commentary of our fellow viewers and surprisingly entertaining. I felt, for the first time like I was part of the city, like I was supposed to be there.

After that, my outlook on the city changed, I conversed with shop keepers and merchants and felt comfortable talking to strangers as we waited in lines or stood next to each other on the subway. I started lunching with the locals from work, and got to hear their perspective on city events and life. I began doing fewer things alone and sought people to join me for dinners, shows and museum tours.

Now, four years later, back in Montana, I am making plans to receive out of town guests and preparaing for dinner tomorrow. The cabin is dark and warm and outside a light snow falls while the morning silence is broken by a gentle breeze through the trees and a far off coyote howl.