What the Aftermath of 9/11 Taught Me About Compassion

When you aim for usefulness, kindness will follow

Like most people, I remember exactly where I was on September 11. I was vacationing at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, determined to embrace nature and escape “the world of dust,” as the Chinese call our everyday existence. The lodge I was staying at boasted that their rooms had no televisions or phones or any other modern distractions. Perfect, I thought, as that Tuesday morning dawned bright and clear.

By the time my server poured my first cup of coffee, the twin towers had already collapsed. In an instant, thousands of lives were lost, and the world changed forever. After the initial shock wore off, something unexpected kicked in: an almost irresistible urge to do something. I wouldn’t call this force tugging at me altruism. I didn’t want to help, not exactly, but I wanted to be…useful. I wanted to make a difference and, at a very base level, reaffirm my presence in a universe that suddenly felt tenuous, and frightening. But how?

For first responders, that question is easily answered: grab your gear and go. Fire up the sirens, don the scrubs, and help. For us mortals, actively engaging in what one psychologist calls “catastrophe compassion” is less easily realized.