Living with Anxiety in the Age of Terrorism

On September 11, 2001, after watching the smoke balloons spiral out of the Pentagon, I waited for five frozen hours to hear from my then-boyfriend. I waited with my coworkers as we sipped warm chardonnay and watched CNN at Rhodeside Grill in Arlington, Virginia. I waited in a beige bathroom stall, wondering if linoleum protected against bombs. I waited in front of my computer, numbly refreshing whatever news site still seemed to be working

He finally called from a payphone. (Remember payphones?) My now-husband was walking home along I-395 beside hordes of other bewildered commuters, having arrived at the Pentagon Metro station stop seconds after the building was hit.

Since then, there have been more random acts of terror. BostonParisSan Bernardino. And yesterday, Brussels.

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