Reflection. That’s what I’ve been sitting with these past couple of days. My mind keeps bouncing around, pulling threads from different years, different moments, different versions of me.

In 2001 a miniseries premiered on HBO. A show about young men who, when called upon, stood up and joined. Stood up and sacrificed. Stood up and did something. They became a Band of Brothers. They joined in 1941 after a day that would live in infamy. A day that would repeat itself, because history always finds a way to echo, just shy of 60 years later.

Ask any of us where we were that day and most can answer without hesitation. And if you can’t remember the details because everything blurred together, you remember the feeling. The world stopped. The world shifted. The world became something you didn’t recognize.

Thinking about this anniversary pulled me into other moments that cracked my world open. Moments that shifted everything.

I entered high school excited, ready to become whoever I thought I was supposed to be. Then 4/20/99 happened. High school changed. Safety changed. The idea of school as a place to grow and figure yourself out changed. And it hasn’t gotten better. It’s only gotten worse, even with people begging for change and presenting solutions no one seems willing to act on.

The world changed again my first year of college. I was in class watching a foreign film about a child chasing a red balloon. I wouldn’t remember that detail at all if I hadn’t walked out into a lobby full of silent students staring at the TV as the second plane hit. The shock. The terror. The devastation. It felt heavy enough to drop you to your knees. I can still feel it today.

Friends and family did what people did back in 1941. Stood up and joined. Stood up and sacrificed. Stood up and did something. For twenty years. And that’s where the similarities end. WWII ended in under four years with a clear victory. The war on terror lasted two decades and ended with no victory, no closure. We just left. The people who planned the attack are gone, but victory isn’t the word I’d use. And honestly, in war, is there ever really victory.

In thirty years I’ve lived through shifts in school safety, repeated cycles of history showing up in new forms. Attack. War. Recession. Pandemic. Each one hit at a pivotal point in my life. Each one diverted my path. Each one forced me to grow in ways I didn’t ask for. And sometimes I want to say give us a break.

Milestones, whether good or devastating, are meant to make us reflect. So why don’t we. Why can’t we learn from ourselves and each other. Why can’t we accept that sometimes the best thing is agreeing to not agree and moving forward.

And with all this reflection, why do I still feel lost. Why do I still feel scared that the world isn’t done with its tidal waves.

History always repeats itself. The signs are always there. We just have to learn how to see them.