A Return of Faith and Loss of Hate: 9/11 Twenty Years Later
On Sept. 11, 2001, I met with one of my best friends in a restaurant to try to comprehend the incomprehensible events that had unfolded that day. As we watched the news, it became clear that the horror we were witnessing wasn't accidental or tragically unfortunate coincidences. Instead, we began learning that humans did this to other humans. It remains the worst day of my life. Not because I lost someone important, but because I lost something important.
In this bonus episode of 12 Geniuses, 20 years later, I reflect on the day that I lost my faith in humanity. However, this isn’t only the story about the worst day of my life. I also want to share the best day of my life — and the personal journey to get to the point where I became liberated from hate ... and the faith returned.
Transcript
Don McPherson:
Hello, this is Don MacPherson, your host of 12 Geniuses. This is a special bonus episode of the show. Instead of interviewing a genius about trends shaping the way we live and work, I'm sharing a couple of personal stories. One is about the best day of my life. The other is about my worst day. I promise, if you make it to the end, there's a shot of optimism that I hope gives you a boost. Our next episode will be another interview with a genius as we close in on the end of Season Five. As always, thanks for listening, and thank you for being a genius.
I was sitting in a restaurant when it happened. With me was one of my best friends. We met to try to comprehend the incomprehensible events of the day. Hours after the towers had collapsed, the Pentagon had been hit and a fourth plane crashed in the field in Pennsylvania, Something happened that I had never experienced before. On a day when so many people lost loved ones, sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, aunts and uncles, it remains the worst day of my life. Not because I lost someone important, but because I lost something important.
At the restaurant, we watched as the news reporting made it clear the horror we were witnessing wasn't accidental or tragically unfortunate coincidences. Instead, we began learning that humans did this to other humans. As this realization settled in, I became a different person. My hands were under the table, resting gently against my seat. Like a liquid leaving me through my fingertips, every last bit of faith in a higher power and faith in humanity left me. I could feel it exiting my body as it spilled onto the restaurant floor. By the end of that day, after the final time I watched a commercial airliner smash into the South Tower of the World Trade Center, my faith was gone.
I became someone that the people in my life had never met before. For months and months, I floundered in apathy and sadness. It was difficult to accept a world with such wanton evil. I had read about the atrocities during World War II, the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia, and genocide attempts in my country and others around the world. Knowledge of that history didn't prepare me for what we witnessed. 20 years later, I can't identify what the turning point was or when it occurred, but somehow I came out of it. Time healed this loss. My faith in humanity was slowly restored. In some ways, it's stronger than ever. My faith in a higher power that's complex. Today, I try to know less. And by “know,” I mean believe in absolutes. I'm more interested in exploring the possibilities.
And that leads me to the best day of my life. On Sept. 11, 2001, I physically felt faith leave my body in a matter of minutes. On the best day of my life, something else began leaving my body. It took weeks to exit. In fact, I didn't even know it was leaving until it was gone. The best day of my life is the day my second daughter was born. You might ask, "Why wasn't the best day of your life when your first daughter was born?" It was. But when my second daughter arrived, our family was complete. A couple of weeks after she was born, I introduced my youngest daughter to family members. In an incredible moment of directness, one of my aunts asked me, "Do you ever wonder if you'll be able to love this one as much as you love your first-born?"
No one had ever asked me this question before. I was stunned when I heard those words leave her mouth. The truth is I had contemplated that question for months during the pregnancy and then the days after my daughter was born. When I admitted to my aunt, who is the mother of three, that I was concerned about that, she just calmly said, "Don't worry about it, it goes away." Even after that conversation with my aunt, I would hold my newborn daughter and wonder when I would feel the same way about her as I did her older sister. Very rarely do I feel guilt, but I did in those moments. Then about six weeks after she was born, I was rocking her to sleep one afternoon, and it dawned on me that I realized I stopped questioning whether I would be able to love my daughters the same. With time, that concern just disappeared.
Right around that time, I was going through a lot of transitions. I had left corporate America. I started 12 Geniuses and embarked on this exploration of topics that just fills me with wonder. My identity had shifted from a business person to a father and an explorer. Great explorers, they resist the urge to know. Knowing is the enemy of discovery. When you know, you look for evidence that confirms, that solidifies, your position. I want to emulate the great explorers, so I began to question what I believe I know.
There I was just a few years ago. I was no longer the business executive I had been for 20 years. I was the father of a newly completed family and an explorer of trends shaping our world. Each day, I sought to learn something new so I could reinvent myself. That's when it began to happen, much more slowly this time. Rather than the drain of faith leaving my body like I felt in the restaurant, this was more like air slowly escaping a balloon. It wasn't faith leaving. The air that seeped from my body over the course of weeks was hate.
One day, I woke up and read something about a subject that would normally trigger a very loathsome response and felt nothing other than a desire to learn more. People I despised, politicians that drove me crazy, self-absorbed behavior that would normally result in outrage, nothing. It doesn't bother me anymore.
At the same time, I was learning I would be able to love both daughters without limit. I became emancipated from hate. Never have I felt as liberated as I do now that I'm living without hate. Unfortunately, there's no advice I can share to stop you from hating. That's beyond my capabilities.
However, as I look back at these last 20 years, there are a few lessons that might prove helpful. First, despite the fixed-mindset cynicism some people have, human beings have incredible capacity to change in remarkable, dramatic ways. Having a willingness to change is helpful. In fact, it's probably required. So, too, is a willingness to admit you don't have all the answers.
Second, the world is better than ever, and it will continue to get better. What we are cultivating now will yield fruit later in life. It's been that way for generations. It's easy to look at a single event and believe the world is a mess, your country is falling apart, or the sky is falling down. Despite setbacks or losses, the world is moving forward in very positive ways that don't get the attention they deserve.
Third, and most importantly, remember that most pain and suffering has a shelf life. It just does. As we grieved and dealt with our anger and pain 20 years ago, we asked, "Will this ever end?" Many of us are asking the same question today. Just as the doubt I felt about my ability to love my daughters equally disappeared, the hate that left my body seeped away, and the faith returned, our pain eases slowly, subtly until, one day, we will wonder where it went.