Before 9/11

I look back at the life I had in NYC in 1994. And the one I left 30 years later. I was rich in friends—I now have none there. I had a higher net worth and cashflow than I have now. I had not experienced humiliation, depression, PTSD, or grieving. Or tsunamis of shame. I had two parents and a functioning brother. I was upbeat, happy, and multi-skilled. Reasonably athletic in many many sports. I was a great downhill skier. I read widely and believed a better world full of cooperation, respect and love was possible. I looked forward to sex with my partner (I just recovered that after 30 years of insulting and unsatisfying sex). I had never met a person who intended me harm. I only had shortterm debt. I believed I’d center my life in Manhattan forever and that it was second to none. Now I hope I’ll never see it again. I owned a business. I still do. 45 years without a down year. I felt successful. Now I feel like a slacker. A fuckup. Living with an unemployable partner for 30 years really fucks up your self-esteem. I had never met a person who said “that didn’t happen” or “I will not help you.” I believed homo sapiens were equal players with Neanderthals. We weren’t. We were cheats and liars. I was a pacifist who hated militaristic and fundamentalist states like the US. I still am, and do.