All work is personal
A lesson from 9/11
My creative director and I were chatting about the day ahead, the projects and clients who made our lives fascinating and frustrating. Another colleague trotted by and said, “A plane just flew into the World Trade Center.”
We followed her to the conference room where we joined others watching the events unfold on the local news. Our design studio was in Rockefeller Center, a few miles from the Twin Towers. Some began wondering aloud about personal connections who worked downtown.
Someone pointed at the TV and said, “What’s that?” Before anyone could answer, a second plane hit the South Tower. We fell silent. A collective dread permeated the air.
We watched as the towers collapsed, first one, then the other. We gasped. We hugged one another. Some cried, others ran from the room. I called my dad in California to let him know I was okay; he knew that my route to work often took me through the subway station under the World Trade Center around the time of the attacks. He was glad to hear I’d decided to walk in the fine September sunshine instead.
We got word from above that we should stay in the studio. My creative director disagreed. He said, “There are attacks all over the country. We’re in a historic building. We need to go.” So we left. Others stayed. He couldn’t get back to his apartment, so he stayed overnight at mine. Our friendship deepened as we talked through the night.
In the months after the attacks, work was odd. Uncertain. Some clients ended their projects; others acted as if nothing had happened. Some of my colleagues lost friends, family. Others were spared that particular trauma. Everyone, however, was hit, gut-punched. We were, after all, New Yorkers. Petty disputes and politics evaporated.
A few months later, several of us were chatting over coffee in one of the common areas. At one point, several minutes into the conversation, someone said, “Hey. No one has mentioned 9/11.” He was right. For the first time since the attacks, the topic hadn’t come up. Not once. It felt strange, guilty, hopeful. This is how we’d make our way back, bit by bit, word by word.
I no longer work with any of those people. We’ve dispersed. Different jobs, different cities, different lives. But for several months, we were bonded by a shared experience, an event larger than work. Larger than projects and clients, deadlines and budgets. An event as large as life itself.
I struggle with boundaries. I overshare. I get personally invested in things that maybe I shouldn’t. Some say I’m intense. In any case, I’ve never made a clear distinction between work life and personal life, for better and worse. It’s all life to me. I believe you should work with people you like, and I believe most people are likable.
9/11 brought this home to me in a very concrete way, and I’ve carried this with me ever since. I sometimes think of the people in the towers, those trapped and those who escaped. How they may have treated one another, good and bad. How they were trapped in an infinite moment of life or death, struggling to figure out what to do next, panicked to their core. I’ve read the stories of survivors and first responders, and what always comes through is the humanity of the experience. Not work, not projects, not titles. Humanity.
I wonder about an older woman and younger man I chatted with during a visit to the top of the towers a few months before 9/11. They were working at a concession stand together. I asked if they were mother and son. That’s what they seemed like. She said, “Oh no! We’re from the same part of Pakistan. I’m looking out for him here in New York.” He smiled and said, “She’s my work momma.” Were they both working on 9/11? If so, did they make it out? Are they still in touch?
Most of my closest relationships have come from work. Two of the three groomsmen at my wedding were former colleagues. As I’m writing this, I got a funny text about a date gone wrong from a dear friend—a former colleague. We’re making arrangements to catch up over drinks so he can share more details about the story.
I’m now part of the largest team in my 25-year career. Because I joined this organization mid-pandemic, I’ve yet to meet a single one of my colleagues in person. And yet, every interaction—video call, Slack chat, email—is an opportunity for a human interaction. I’ve made close friendships here, too, friendships that I believe will extend well into the future. In the midst of a pandemic, we’ve not only spun up a brand new streaming service, most of us have made connections that will last our entire lives.
This is one of the few positive lessons I’ve gleaned from 9/11: All work is personal. Or, it can be, if you let it.
This story was originally published on Medium on September 11, 2021.