Finding Myself and Losing the World

Finding Myself and Losing the World

Finding a sense of purpose is a powerful thing. It’s a feeling some people spend their whole lives searching for. The sense that what you are doing is truly important can be life-changing. Overwhelming. Exhilarating. Terrifying. Fulfilling. Even euphoric. Some find that purpose in their faith, others in service to the community around them. Some find it in standing up and fighting for what they believe in. Some, like I did, find it in times of crisis.  No matter where we find this greater purpose for ourselves, at it’s best it’s a high better than any drug – a positive force with the collaborative power to change the world. At it’s worst, it’s the pavement on the road to hell – a force hateful and destructive enough to fuel genocides. And telling the difference – especially within ourselves – is much harder that you might think. When the twin towers fell in Manhattan, I began to glimpse the direction my life would take. And for a little while, despite all the good work I was able to do, it turned me into someone I never wanted to be. I’ve written so much about the beauty that existed in Ground Zero among the 1st Responders and our work there. It was an extraordinary time. But there is also something else worth talking about that’s a little more personal. And of all the things I’ve written about that time, this is the most difficult.  Running Backwards, Towards a Cliff On the 13th of September 2011, standing in the gas station that used to be on the corner of Canal and the West...
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