The tenth anniversary of September 11th was many things to many people. Patriotic side show, election year soap box, corporate sponsorship opportunity, major police and secret service operation. During the official commemoration on the morning of 9/11, Lower Manhattan was on complete security lockdown, with access to the memorial site granted to family members only. During the previous night and the afternoon and evening of the 11th, however, the area around the active construction site morphed into a carnivalesque state fair of commemorative tourism – with vendors hawking their wares and assorted conspiracy theorists their drama, while the local fire station turned into some kind of a petting zoo for grief pilgrims.

The most aptly symbolic sight of the day, in the end, was the USS New York anchoring in the Hudson River – a war vessel forged from steel of the destroyed twin towers, idling, while joggers and strolling families scarcely paid any attention. Life goes on. And yet, among the frenzy and spectacle there were small moments of grace, moments of people making the connection they had come to establish or renew.  Nobody owns the day, the site, the individual memories. Two days later, I was able to visit the just opened 9-11 Memorial, and was struck by how powerfully the simple design works in evoking the absence of the towers and providing a space for people to engage in their own reflections, away from the construction noise, and others taking pictures.