Every September 11, I think about Alan Jackson’s song, “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning),” because I know exactly where I was. I was driving to school with my kids in the car, and my husband called to tell me that an airplane had hit one of the World Trade Center towers. I was teaching seventh and eighth grade at the time, and like most people in those first few moments, I assumed it had been a terrible accident.
I got to school and started my day, the kids arrived, and then the second plane hit. That was when everything changed, because suddenly this didn’t look like an accident anymore. Then came the news about the Pentagon, and we were trying to understand something that seemed impossible while also trying to reassure a room full of seventh- and eighth-graders who were old enough to understand what was happening and just as scared as we were.
I taught at a Christian school, so the teachers and students gathered together in a circle, held hands, and prayed. My generation had never experienced anything quite like this, and none of us knew what was going to happen next, whether there would be more attacks or what any of it meant for our country. We only knew that something terrible was happening, and in that moment, holding on to one another and praying was about the only thing we knew to do.
I remember the horror of that day, but I also remember something else about the days and weeks that followed: people came together. It didn’t make what happened good, because nothing ever could, but something good happened in spite of it. For a while, so many of the differences and labels that can separate us seemed less important, and we were reminded of something much more basic—we were people who were hurting, grieving and trying to take care of one another.
We watched strangers searching desperately for their loved ones and imagined what it would be like if it were our husband, wife, child, parent, brother or sister. We thought about the people on those planes and in those buildings, what their final moments must have been like, and the families who were suddenly facing a future they never could have imagined when they woke up that morning. There was an incredible amount of empathy and compassion for complete strangers.
Sometimes it scares me to think about what would happen if another tragedy like that occurred today. The world feels so divided in so many ways, and I wonder whether we could find that same kind of unity again. When I let myself think too far down that road, though, anxiety can start filling in the blanks with the worst possibilities, and that’s when I try to stop looking at what I fear might happen and look instead at the truth of what is actually happening around me.
I look at my own community, and I realize that kind of unity never really went away here. When someone loses a spouse, people bring food or put a card in the mail. When someone faces a terrible tragedy or illness, people who may not even know them donate to a fundraiser, offer a ride, say a prayer or simply find some way to let them know they aren’t facing it alone. We don’t necessarily know everything about them or whether they see the world exactly the way we do; we simply see another human being going through something hard, and we help.
Sometimes it’s even simpler than that. It’s holding the door for someone at the post office, smiling at somebody you pass on the sidewalk or in the grocery store, or saying good morning to the people I meet while I’m out walking JoJo and the Lollipop Guild, including campers and visitors I’ve never seen before and may never see again. They’re small interactions that probably won’t be remembered by either person for very long, but they’re little reminders that most of the time, when we’re simply standing face-to-face with another person, being kind isn’t all that complicated.
It’s funny how, when we get away from all the things constantly trying to tell us how different we are and we’re simply people interacting with other people, we can be pretty darn good to one another.
Twenty-five years later, I still remember where I was when the world stopped turning, but I also remember what happened when we reached for one another.
Maybe the Something Good today is remembering that we still can.
Anyway—Off We Go. 
Look for the good. Be the good in the world.
Here’s to finding light in unexpected places. 
© 2026 Erica Shoemaker | Anyway—Off We Go. All Rights Reserved.
Follow my page for more Something Good stories, encouragement and reminders that kindness still matters.
#SomethingGood#September11#NeverForget#KindnessMatters#Community#Compassion#Humanity#BeTheGood
