The date 9/11 always elicits strong visceral memories for me, as I am sure it does for everyone else who is old enough to remember. The horrors of that day are a collective trauma, not only for the nation but for the world. The impact had tremendous ramifications for both. The August issue of The Atlantic has an article that provides an up-to-date assessment. I recommend reading it.

Life was different back then. As Alan Jackson’s song, “Where Were You (When the World Stop Turning)” so beautifully conveys, it was a day when the world seemed to stop turning, and as is common with trauma, I am brought back to that time. The experience is always vivid. Emotional.

It was my freshman year of college at the University of North Florida in Jacksonville. I remember coming down the stairs that morning after my college writing class and exiting the academic building which was adjacent to the courtyard with tables where the bookstore was located. As I pushed the door open with the courtyard still out of sight, I could hear the familiar voice of Tom Brokaw. As I walked around the building to inspect the cause for this, I could see a group of students standing around a man grilling hamburgers who had his tiny radio turned up.

I was living in the dorms at the time and had a roommate, Justin. I believe I bumped into him on the walk back to the dorm. Everyone was talking about what had happened. I can’t say for certain, but I believe we watched on our small TV in our dorm room as the second plane hit the other tower.

I remember everything shutting down. It was the only thing that was on TV and the radio. I went to my parents’ home on the westside of the city. Schools and many businesses were closed. The president spoke to the public. It consumed the news for over a year. I remember in the days afterward family members of the missing pleading on shows like Good Morning America for any information on their missing relatives.

Forgive the absolute inadequacy of my words to convey anything substantive about that day. May the knowledge of the intense feelings I have and my watery eyes as I type be a testament, more than anything else, of how painful reflecting on these events is to me. Ask my wife, I don’t even like watching 9/11 specials. I just can’t stomach it. I’ve never seen any movies made about it. The Alan Jackson song stops me in my tracks.

As I attempted to complete my freshman year of college, getting a C in college algebra and struggling to understand anything in my business calculus course – I had to take it three times and fail each time – I came to realize that maybe I wasn’t prepared at 18 to obtain a degree in international business. I considered joining the Navy. Many young men our age were caught up in the patriotic feelings of the time. Jacksonville is a huge Navy town. I met with a recruiter and even persuaded Justin to look into it. The recruiter was going to coordinate it so we could do the buddy program where we would go to basic training and A school training together. I ended up dropping out the night I was supposed to go to the hotel where we would stay before our morning trip to MEPS. Justin joined and ended up living in Italy for a time. He successfully finished his enlistment, moved back to his hometown, got a degree from Auburn, and married his high school sweetheart. God, I can’t believe that was 25 years ago.

Fast forward to 2014 and I finally joined the military. Instead of being 18, I was 31, and instead of the Navy it was the RI Air National Guard. I had lived with certain level of regret that I never had and figured it was now or never. My wife’s father, uncle, and sister had all served with the RI unit, so it was a logical choice.

Week seven of basic training is known as BEAST week, and it’s when we spend a week sleeping in tents and eating MREs. Aside from avoiding rattlesnakes, we’d fight each other with pugil sticks, get exposed to tear gas, and go through various obstacle courses. At the end of the week, they line you up in formation and hand you your dog tags. 9/11 came back to me in full force during that ceremony as Toby Keith’s, “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue” played loudly in the background. It was a visceral feeling: the intense emotions, the welling up of something so deep and true and uncontrollable, something that happens when the meaning of 9/11 resurfaces from within my inmost being.

Maybe you can relate in your own way.