When the Bomb Drops.

For many years I have had a relationship with coffee not unlike a bad relationship: on again, off again. At one point I'd quit drinking it only to find myself a month or so later returning to a new haunt for the "dirt filtered with hot water." Mostly I found the places themselves to be more interesting than the drinks themselves. Before I headed in to work yesterday I stopped at my current, favorite coffee shop in Sellwood called the Ugly Mug. The owner of the cafe stood behind the counter as barista and asked if I'd have my usual: a short, double mocha, non-fat. I smiled and agreed that it was my wish.

"You heading in to work tonight?" she asked me. I told her that I was going in for my last of three 12-hour shifts and had recently overcome a cold. "I took NyQuil this morning before sleeping," I said. "Nothing like the drunken feeling that comes from waking up after being sick then cured by NyQuil." It was her time to smile, mostly in understanding of my condition. "The coffee will help," she proclaimed after a short giggle.

I paid for my drink and struck up conversation with her as I have in the past. She wanted to know more about my job and if it was exciting or not. Surgery has it's moments after all. Being neither the surgeon nor the circulating nurse means I have a lot more anonymity than they do and less, overriding responsibility; but my job really is pretty amazing. She seemed interested in my profession and stated she was looking to move ahead in her job, something in health care. She mentioned her degree in Fine Arts and enjoyment of running the shop, but admitted that she wanted to have a job that contributed to the grander scheme of the world. She wanted to know more about getting on with a life that is richer and full of greater meaning. I had little to say but this, "When it comes down to it, we all need so little and what comes to us naturally is only evident when the situation calls for it." We discussed what would happen to people's routines if a major global event happened: an earthquake, comet impact, nuclear fallout or other such catastrophe. We agreed that it would be the simpler, life-sustaining capabilities that we would display, falling back on our habitual interests (coffee preparation, showing art to children as social benefit, playing sports, etc.) as our way of preserving who we are as a species, not just as individuals. Until such an event happens we agreed that it's not wrong to dwell on what we each could become, but it is foolish to wait for it to happen on its own.

This woman is my age with only a couple of extra years added. A member of the so-coined Generation "X". The "lame-o" kids with nothing to do and nowhere to do it. Unproven, unfocused, Gen X. Yes, I am aware of today's date; and yes, I understand that there is pain and sorrow and grieving taking place across this country and globe. However I also know this is five years past. That the Pentagon, Flight 93 and N.Y.C. Trade Center attacks have been made into films, commemorating or expanding upon their details. To this I reiterate that five years have passed since the events of 11 September, and I ask you to consider this as our leaders equate 9/11 to the devastation of World War II: What was the situation for the war-ravaged lands of Europe in 1950, five years after the end of WWII? I would argue that it was much improved and getting even better because of the assistance of Europe’s neighbors and allies. The focus was kept for length not where the blame was to be placed, nor on carrying out retribution on those found responsible. Nor was it true five years later, when the world sought to heap pity, not on the country, but upon those victims most deserving of memorial service both in the honorific and vigilant reminder of their tormentor.

If my words are harsh or to historical to become personal, I offer you a simpler question that may help to simplify my message: How long ago did you lose a family member? Think back two, five or 10 years and try to remember something specific to you about them. I'll wager it's the first time you've done so in a while. You're strong and aware of yourself, right? You do not fear as you once did, of mortality, consequence or judgment. You do not hold the thought of their loss as a staple for determining your daily routines. Merely you would rather think that you hold the memories of that loved one as a benchmark for improving yourself and as experience to be passed to others.

I contend that we in the United States must call upon ourselves, not just our leaders, to survey our lifestyles and consider where we will be five years from this day, ten years removed from tragedy. That we have come around to find that half a decade later we are not living a more peaceful life as did 1950 Europe, despite technology that allows for greater information gathering, a more robust population than did the world have in 1950, and social causes that are arguably deeper in meaning and understanding than at any other point in our human history is

Are our wounds long since scabbed over and left as scar tissue, reminders that are skin deep to the body and passing memory in mind.

We have all of us become Zarathustra, ardent apostles to the prognosticators; and it is ourselves that have permitted this to happen.

This kind woman conveyed to me that she was one of many she knew; tired of the routine living I have only too often rebelled against only to return like a wounded animal seeking shelter from harm. My coffee habit reflects that observation: one of comfortable prediction. And when the bomb drops, when we are all left with our routines splayed open, our simplest needs now the most apparent, will we say it came to be because of inaction? That it was a freak occurrence unforeseen even by the soothsayers? Or will we look back on our most recent history, unafraid to reshape ourselves and show comfort and courage to those that may normally cower before the unforeseeable, accept the blame and use that strength to carry on? I can only hope so for tomorrow, for today I see reminders of events past and empty coffee cups in a deep impact crater.

Tomorrow, I will start to fill it in with a shovelful of audacity.