Twenty-three years…chapters written, pages turned, and the story continues on.

Time passes, but today so many of us pause to reflect on a defining moment when the world seemed to stop…breathing, moving, living…

And in those moments, we realized we were no longer the authors of our own stories….powerless to do anything but watch our understanding of reality change entirely forever.

I was living in New York City on September 11, 2001 and there are two images that I can’t ever unsee:

1. The ashen exodus of survivors crossing the Manhattan Bridge into Downtown Brooklyn around 11am

and

2. A dusty pair of shoes in a box at the makeshift memorial in Union Square on Sept 13.

The shoes really hit me hard. I think about them every single year on this day. Those shoes carried someone through his life…and then outlived him, memorialized him, and ultimately, became his legacy.

Someone who loved him took those shoes, put them in a box, got on a train to Union Square and placed them there, amidst relics and candles, in an attempt to begin healing from a day most of us will never completely heal from.

I forget sometimes to value the steps I’m taking and the path I’m walking in my own shoes…especially the last few years navigating a challenging trail and there’s been a lot of tall trees in this forest…

Today, as always, the memory of those shoes reminds me to be present in the present…that my story is written in the steps I take, one at a time, with grit and purpose.

Reaching a destination is never guaranteed, but we can be mindful of the journey we’re on, the company we keep, the legacy we create, and the often overlooked reward of wearing a comfortable pair of shoes as we forge ahead,