The Day I Walked Home: A 9/11 Story
Twenty-five years ago today, I was a sophomore at Marymount Manhattan College in New York City. I was sitting in Richard Hutzler’s Poetry class when the first tower fell. It was a beautiful September morning. No one walked into class that morning expecting history to change forever.
Classes were canceled for the rest of the day. Cell phones weren’t working. Long lines formed in the main offices just to use a landline. I eventually got through to my family and told them I was okay. Students were instructed to go back to the dorms. But there was a problem. I was a commuter. I lived in New Jersey.
Now I had to figure out how to get home. There were no buses. No trains. No taxis. New York City had come to a complete stop. So I walked.
I walked from 72nd Street on the East Side all the way to Penn Station on 34th Street on the West Side. And, of course, I was wearing high heels because it had been a beautiful morning, and I had dressed up for the first week of school. I was looking forward to the new year. Along the way, I found one of the few small shops that was still open and bought a pair of comfortable shoes. Then I kept walking.
What I remember most wasn’t the fear. It was the people. As I walked alongside strangers who were also trying to get home, I noticed something I had rarely experienced in New York City: Calm. No one was yelling, fighting or rushing like every other day. People were helping each other. If a taxi appeared, people shared it. Some walked across the bridges together. Everyone seemed to understand that, at that moment, we were all in this together.
Eventually, around 6 p.m., I made it to Penn Station. A train was finally preparing to leave for Newark. Although, Newark wasn’t my home, at least I was in the same state and I would have figured it out from there. I walked onto the platform and saw what looked like a sea of people. It was overwhelming. I remember thinking:
“How am I going to get on this train?”
Somehow, I did. I pushed my way toward the front and managed to get on. However, I was exhausted because I had been walking around Manhattan all day. I just wanted to go home and when that train finally left Penn Station, I knew I was one step closer.
What 9/11 Taught Me about Growth
There is a human lesson that has stayed with me for 25 years:
Sometimes the plan disappears.
You can have a destination and a schedule. Then you can think you know exactly how you’re going to get there and then something happens that changes everything. When that happens, growth isn’t always about having the perfect strategy.
Sometimes it’s about being willing to: Adapt. Keep moving. Ask for help. Help others and find another way forward.
That day, I didn’t know how I was getting home. I just knew I needed to get there. So I changed my shoes, changed my route, walked with strangers, adapted to whatever was happening around me—and kept going.
Twenty-five years later, I still think about that walk and I still believe that sometimes, the path to where we’re going doesn’t look anything like the path we planned.
But that doesn’t mean we stop. We adapt, keep moving and eventually, we find our way home.
Remembering September 11, 2001. 🇺🇸
For everyone we lost, those who survived and for everyone who helped a stranger get home.
