On Being Terrified.

I’ve never thought much of the word terror.

Fear, yes. Terror, not so much. The word has come to define a generation. Oklahoma City Bombing then Columbine then 9/11. I think I heard that on CNN once. Today I came to understand what it meant.

Terror is a bellyache that won’t go away.

Terror is not asking questions because the answers are tears.

Terror is freezing.

Terror is constant movement.

Terror is self-numbing.

Terror is creating distractions in the form of to-do lists, journal pages, videos, projects, etc.

Terror is sleeping because being awake is too scary.

Terror is staying awake because you may sleep and miss something.

Terror is telling your mom she needs to start sewing masks, just in case, and then immediately saying, no, you need to wear one now.”

Terror is watching my mother sew the masks, fit them on my face, adjust the elastic straps, and iron them the way she did with the prom dress I asked her to sew for me over 15 years ago. It’s watching her to do something that once was liberating and magical—turning fabric into pleats into twirls in the mirror— become anan act against terrorism.

Terrorism is innocence being undone one stitch at a time and altering your daily life.

Today, when I tried on the mask and took a picture to show my friends, terror became more than just a thing I heard on tv. Terror lives here now.