I want to forget. I want to forget that the events of September 11, 2001 ever happened. I want to forget that the safety, the comfort of western civilization was shattered by a terrorist attack that killed thousands of its citizens. I want to forget that people I have come to care about were within sight of the disaster. I want to forget the price that comes with freedom.

Just last week Doctors Without Borders set up an imitation refugee camp in my Dartmouth to teach people what life is like for those whose lives are shattered by war. Now a real refugee camp of sorts is being set up to shelter those people whose flights home were diverted by this tragedy. Just last week I finished paying for my plane ticket for a trip to Calgary. Now I am forced to wonder when, if ever we will be able to fly again without fear.

I want to remember. I want to remember the people who died without ever knowing why. I want to remember that life is a fragile thing, precious and fleeting. I want to remember that the worst of times can often bring out the best in people. I want to remember that no matter the tragedy, we must not live our lives in fear.

As I reflected on the days events, I asked myself, if it had been me in one of those towers, if I had died today, would I be able to say I lived my life the way I wanted to? Would I be proud of my deeds, my accomplishments? The answer is no. To this point, I have largely drifted through life, taking the path of least resistance, there have been no great failures, no great disappointments, but there were also no great risks. I have survived, even thrived, but I for the most part, I have not yet lived. I have had many great dreams, but few great accomplishments, not because they were beyond my reach, but because I never bothered to get off my ass and try for them. The moments in my life that I am most proud of, such as helping friends and repairing my relationship with my mother, came when I was willing to take a chance and try, knowing that I might not succeed. In fact, some of my proudest moments are failures, because I knew that I had given it my all, regardless of outcome.

When my day comes, I want be able to face it knowing that I lived the best life I could in the time I had. I mourn all of those who died today, but I mourn any who died without this feeling of inner peace most of all.

To die regretting your life is, in my mind, the worst kind of hell.