On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was sitting at my desk in Cambridge, Massachusetts, working on a proposal with my colleague, John Devanney, when the news arrived.

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A young coworker, Kat Lam, from our company, Sapient, had called in from lower Manhattan moments after the first plane hit the first tower. She told John she would be late to the office because of the falling debris coming down on her. I heard John tell her to be safe and not to worry about getting to the office. As I listened to their brief exchange, my mind began to do what terrorists long for: race, imagine, and let fear take hold.

I turned to my web browser and hit refresh repeatedly. CNN published the first of millions of images of billowing smoke rising from the building that symbolised so much to me as a child. News soon came in that a second plane hit the second tower and then the Pentagon had been hit. America was breaking into pieces as unchecked imagination and deep uncertainty blended into toxic plumes of smoke.

Hundreds of colleagues assembled in a restaurant lobby at One Memorial Drive so we could watch events on a single television near the lobby. We were told by the leaders of our company to reach out to account for all our teammates and then head home to be with our families.

John and another colleague, Meg Armstrong, who could not return to NYC that night, came home with me, so they did not have to be alone in a hotel room. As I saw my wife come out of our apartment door in Porter Square, my eyes welled with tears that would flow on and off for many weeks ahead.

We huddled around the television and tried to find meaning and context. Stunned silence was punctured only by the nonhyperbolic voice of the television anchor Peter Jennings. I watched the television until the early morning hours of September 12. It was impossible to look away.

The Twin Towers were much more than buildings to me. They were and remain iconic and dreamy markers connecting me to youthful pride in my dad’s professional accomplishments and the heart-stopping moment of asking a beautiful woman to spend a life together.

In the 1980s, my father was a successful real estate lawyer who occupied a corner office on the one hundredth floor of the North Tower. Commuting into NYC with your dad to spend the day in the World Trade Center was a heady experience for any kid from Long Island. We took our seats on the Port Washington train line from Manhasset and settled in for the ride to Penn Station. I thought people would........

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