Everybody knows what today is. And I still don’t know quite how to process what it all means, or what it should mean. Every year for the past 10, I reflect on that Tuesday morning, the days leading up to and following it.

I’ve tuned out all of the media coverage this week, not because I’m avoiding it but because I hope September 11, the actual day, can become a day like any other. The event is something that will forever mark and shape the rest of our lives, and we will always talk about it. I mean, I was at a party last night and we were all preparing to wrap up and leave, but someone mentioned air travel or New York or security or something, and we stayed in the kitchen another hour discussing where we were and how we felt about it. We had a special and important conversation. I will never forget what happened, those we lost, those who showed unimaginable bravery. I think of them almost every day, especially when my eye catches the clock at 9:11 a.m. or p.m. That eerily happens a lot. I need September 11 to represent a reason that we celebrate love, life and service, not one that stops us in our tracks every year.

I’ve said my peace already on my experiences that day and my reactions to others’ stories, so I won’t recount those again. All that’s left for me to say is this.