I am struggling a little with the juxtaposition of today.

I am finding it difficult to be wishing people Shanah Tovah, a good and sweet new year, while at the same time remembering that 25 years ago today, our world changed in the most horrific way.

I remember the fear, the heartbreak, the disbelief, and the tremendous loss. But I also remember what happened in the days afterward. People showed up for one another. We checked on each other. We grieved for people we didn’t know. For a moment, there was a sense that whatever our differences, we belonged to one another.

Twenty-five years later, it is hard not to look around and wonder how we have gotten so far away from that.

We are angry. We are divided. We are quick to judge and slow to listen. We decide whose pain deserves our compassion. We sometimes see someone’s politics, religion, beliefs, or identity before we see the person.

And I say “we” intentionally, because I am part of the we.

Yesterday at work, we were asked to share a hope for ourselves as we enter the new year. I talked about wanting to find the balance between jumping in to get things done, which is very much who I am, and giving myself the space to listen, learn, be present, and appreciate the people and moments around me. To be more intentional about where I put my time, energy, and attention.

I’ve had more time to sit with that question, and I realize there is something else I want for myself this year: teshuvah.

It is easy to look at the world and see everything I wish other people would do differently. Teshuvah asks me to look at myself instead.

Am I listening enough? Am I too quick to judge? Can I disagree strongly and still see the person in front of me? Can I hold onto compassion even when it is difficult?

Teshuvah asks us to return. This year, I want to return to the person I hope to be. Not perfectly, but intentionally.

And today, before anything else, I remember.

May the memories of those we lost that day, and in the days and years since, be for a blessing. May we never forget the lives that were taken, the families forever changed, and all those who carried the physical and emotional consequences of that day long after September 11, 2001.

Perhaps one way I can honor those memories is through my own teshuvah. By remembering what I saw in people during those darkest days and asking more of myself now.

To slow down enough to listen.
To judge less quickly.
To choose kindness.
To see the person before the label.
To appreciate the people and moments in front of me.
To do better.
And to keep returning.

Yesterday, I had one answer for what I hope for myself in the new year. Today, with a little more time to think about it, I would add this:

May I become a little more of the person I hope to be.

Shanah Tovah. May the year ahead be one of remembrance, teshuvah, healing, compassion, and peace.