24 Years Later: The Day That Changed Everything

September 11, 2001. Twenty-four years ago today.

The day the world stopped, the day New York bled, the day I lost a friend I was supposed to buy a bar with.

We had dreams mapped out—beer taps, jukebox playlists, the kind of bar where you walk in and everyone knows your name, not because it’s a TV show but because community mattered. We were close to making it happen. And then, in a single morning, everything we thought was certain was gone.

I don’t need to rehash the footage—you’ve seen it, you’ve felt it, and maybe, like me, you’ll never be able to look at a clear blue September sky without thinking of that day. What I hold onto isn’t just the tragedy itself, but the ripple it caused in my life.

Five days later—September 16, 2001—I came out to my parents.

Because when the world collapses in front of you, when buildings fall and futures disappear, the closet feels like the most pointless coffin to stay in. The gravity of that week forced me to face myself and them. And while it wasn’t easy, it was necessary. That’s what tragedy does—it strips away the excuses.

So today, even while I’m on vacation, I’m pausing to honor my friend, the lives lost, and the way that day reshaped me forever. Because remembering isn’t tied to where you are—it’s tied to who you are, and who you choose to keep carrying with you.

Twenty-four years later, I’m still here. Still gay. Still loud. Still building something—books, community, messy stories, chosen family. Not a bar, but a space all the same. And maybe that’s the legacy I was meant to carry forward.

Never forget. But also—never stop living.

🐾 Roxi & Xena’s Dog Spa Dispatch:

“Dad wanted us to say something deep, but we’re busy. Roxi just got a blueberry facial and Xena is glaring at a golden doodle in the sauna. We honor in our own way—by napping, snacking, and making sure the spa staff knows who runs this place. (Hint: it’s us.)”