I spent the night at my parents' house last night, and while I waited for the train into the city this morning I was struck with a vivid memory that still haunts me every once in a while. That's because I was standing in about the same spot where, about 20 years ago, I saw a guy get hit by a train.
I was working my first job out of college, living at home, and commuting downtown via the World Trade Center. My mornings were a marvel of consistency, because it seemed that each day I ended up 1) running for the train just as it pulled into the station and 2) spending my trip fermenting in sweat.
One morning as I reached the station, another guy about 50 feet ahead of me was sprinting for the train, which was about to pull out. I ran down the steps in time to see the guy leap for the train, and when he grabbed the little handle he was instantly pulled parallel to the ground. Naturally this caught him by surprise, so he let go -- and he fell between the train and the platform. I stood there for a few seconds, agape, unsure of how to process what I had just seen. When the train was gone he lay there on the tracks, but he was largely unharmed. He had gotten a few bad scrapes from the undercarriage, but he had miraculously avoided anything serious, like an amputation, because his whole body had rolled between the rails.
It was the closest thing to a miracle that I've ever seen, and since then I've been just a little bit more awed by how random life is, and just a little more thankful for having made it this far.
Thanks for everything, everyone.