September 11th always transports me back to a moment that reshaped not just our nation, but our sense of who we were. Even 24 years later, the emotional weight still lives within me. During my recent travels for my book tour, I’ve spoken with people who continue to carry that day in their hearts - proof that its impact endures far beyond memory.
When I wrote my Hard Pivot book, I reflected on our discomfort with endings and loss. I wrote about how painful experiences test us, and how they offer us a chance to choose the way we return to life afterward.
That feels painfully relevant once again as the tragic assassination of Charlie Kirk stirs confusion, grief, and division across the country. Regardless of anyone’s beliefs, a life lost to violence leaves families broken and communities shaken.
I remember the morning of September 11th with a clarity that time hasn’t dimmed. A normal day suddenly shattered into chaos. Fear and uncertainty wrapped around everything. But what I carry most vividly is what followed - the way people held one another up, the way strangers became neighbors, the way unity rose from the debris. For a while, we remembered that humanity mattered more than opinion.
There’s something I worry about with Gen-Z - not because they don’t care, but because they didn’t feel the visceral shock of that day. As a motivational speaker, I often talk to younger audiences about how time softens the memories that once galvanized us.
The urgency fades. The emotional sharpness dulls. When that happens, the lessons we learned about unity begin to slip away. And when we forget, division can grow unchecked. Today, we see that risk in real time.
Social media arguments escalate faster than conversations. Assumptions replace understanding. Humanity gets lost in the noise. But history has shown us what we’re capable of when we choose to stand together - not just in tragedy, but in the days that follow.
My Olympic journey taught me something that continues to define my life: strength isn’t built in comfort. It’s forged in struggle, confusion, and the unfamiliar. That’s why September 11th is not merely a historical date.
It’s a call to remember our capacity for unity, resilience, and compassion. As a professional speaker, I see how deeply people respond to stories of rising after hardship - because we all know struggle in some form.
In the days following the attacks, America revealed a version of itself that I will never forget. We listened more. We helped more. We cared more. Division seemed to pause long enough for people to look at each other not as adversaries, but as fellow human beings. That unity didn’t erase the pain, but it carried us through it.
Forgetting what those days felt like is more dangerous than we realize. Forgetting invites:
But remembering? Remembering keeps us tethered to empathy.
Remembering reminds us that unity is possible.
Remembering prevents us from letting today’s disagreements define us.
Remembering helps us show up for one another even when it’s difficult.
Traveling across the country, I meet countless people who share exactly where they were that morning, who they lost, or how life changed. Those stories remind me that remembering is not an act of dwelling - it’s an act of honoring. It’s how we ensure the lessons of unity don’t get swallowed by time.
The more I think about September 11th, the clearer it becomes that unity isn’t born from perfection. America hasn’t been perfect. None of us have. But the thing that has always defined us is our ability to rise. The choice to show up. The willingness to keep building even when the world feels uncertain.
The unity we experienced after the attacks wasn’t forced - it was instinctive. It was the kind of humanity that shows up when everything else falls away. And I believe we can access that same humanity today, even in a world that feels more divided and complex than ever.
In moments like these, I’m reminded of the lessons I explored in my Hard Pivot book, which challenged me to reflect deeply on how we rebuild, redirect, and rise after life’s most unexpected blows. Those themes feel especially necessary today.
As a motivational speaker, I often share with audiences that unity is a choice we renew every day. It’s not something given to us - we create it, protect it, and practice it through our actions, even when the world feels fractured.
To do that, we need to choose differently.
We need to choose listening over reacting, understanding over assumptions, connection over isolation, and humanity over hostility.
And sometimes, we need to choose silence - long enough to hear the person on the other side.
Remembering isn’t passive. It’s a practice - a discipline. It means choosing empathy even when frustration feels easier. It means looking at someone you disagree with and still seeing a person with a story you don’t fully know. It means noticing the small ways we drift apart and choosing to close that gap instead of widening it.
When we practice remembering, we honor the resilience we showed then and the resilience we still need today.
As I reflect on September 11th this year, my message remains simple but urgent: we cannot allow time to erase the unity that tragedy once forced upon us.
We must not forget - not because we want to relive the pain, but because the lessons matter too much to lose. We must remember that compassion is stronger than fear, unity can still win over division, showing up for one another is a choice, and our shared humanity is our greatest strength.
America’s story is built on resilience, struggle, reinvention, and the strength to rise again and again - an energy that lives in every one of us. As a professional speaker, I’ve seen how deeply that spirit still runs through our communities.
It’s why we must not forget. We must remember so we can keep showing up, keep building, and avoid slipping into the division that weakens us. The past calls us to honor it, the present asks us to apply its lessons, and the future challenges us to rise - together.