A friend of mine gave me a really lovely plant about a year ago. Unlike many plants I’ve owned, I watered it, and it didn’t die. Quite the opposite. It grew. I didn’t realize quite how much until I was moving into a new location recently, and one big, long branch of the plant, which had grown against the window, broke right off when I pulled it away from its support. Half the plant was gone. The flowering half.
Dammit. Even the plants I think I’m not killing, I end up killing. I was about to throw the branch away when I thought, “What can it hurt to stick the stump of this branch into the dirt?”
The distance between 19 and 29 is always a revelatory one, but for me it has been a decade defined by the slow and steady realization of exactly what happened to us that day. Today, I feel most touched by 9/11 when I see politicians saying their goal is to defeat each other instead of promising to make changes for good. I see it in angry Facebook posts and scathing blogs. I see it in recall campaigns and fear-mongering around dinner tables. I see the anger everywhere, and it’s exhausting. I’m deeply disheartened by the negativity all around me. I’m more than disheartened; I’m disappointed.