This morning I woke up to a sliver or orange sun rising over the northern Florida Atlantic and stood out on the hotel room terrace to watch it grow. A brief moment of zen far from the images of rage and celebration and triumph that are flooding the media in the wake of Bin Laden’s death.
I am glad we killed the terrorist fuck, no doubt about it. I hope he rots in whatever version of hell he spent his sick, misdirected life fearing, and I hope it’s a million times worse than anything he could have imagined. But I look at the photos of American celebration and I think…am I missing something?
I feel proud of my President and our military. I feel some degree of relief. I feel like shouting NOW THAT’S WHAT MISSION ACCOMPLISHED LOOKS LIKE. But I don’t feel like partying.
Maybe I’d feel differently if I were home, where the gaping hole in the downtown skyline is a constant reminder of 2001, and not alone in a sterile hotel room. It’s possible.
I do wish I could hug my kids right now. Painfully and desperately. I do wish I could be a part of the the energy of my family, my neighbors, and the city of New York right now, just to know what it feels like.
I also wish we all learn someday whether the White House intentionally planned the announcement right in the middle of The Apprentice. Because that was awesome in every way.