I started to get angsty about the anniversary of 9-11 in mid-August. Finally, it’s here. And when I bury my head in the media sand, I can get through it.

I don’t know how to walk the line between memory and moving on. All I know is that my heart rate goes up when anyone mentions 9-11 on the news, or whenever I hear a helicopter. I will never forget. I will never bury my pain that deeply. But I don’t believe that listening to all the coverage out there will help me, either.

For this one day a year, I have an extremely hard time avoiding “what might have been.” What if my uncle had stayed at the academy that morning? What if I went to a bar, instead of a friend’s apartment? What if my family had processed it all differently?

I have relatives who won’t get on a plane. Ever. I don’t mind air travel, but I can’t stand the sound of helicopters. They hovered for months afterward. Now everytime I hear one overhead I think that a new tragedy has struck.

Is it wrong to carry on like it’s a “normal” Friday? I feel sad. I might cry. But then I will go to the gym and eat my lunch and later on eat my dinner and go to sleep around 10 pm. Is that ignorant, or a successful sign that I’m healing? Is normalcy really just avoidance dressed up in routine?

Today, I’m far from Ground Zero. In fact, I’ve only seen a single helicopter fly by me in WYO .  I’m lucky to feel safe on a daily basis. But at what cost? People here seem to have no sense that danger even exists. I doubt that I would trade my current comfort for 24-7 fear, but I wouldn’t trade it for blissful ignorance of fear’s existence, either.

So where does that leave me? Right where I am. And even if I can’t name it, or define it, or embrace it, I can live it. Here, now. Today is not just another day. But it is my day. I plan to treat myself gingerly, and enjoy what I can.