The plane took off at 8:10 in the morning - or that's when it

When Ted Olson spoke the words, “The plane took off at 8:10 in the morning—or that’s when it was scheduled to take off. And that’s when I believe it took off. I had been in my office at the Department of Justice. Someone told me that there had been the two strikes that occurred at the World Trade Center,” he was not uttering a casual remembrance. He was bearing witness to a moment carved into the very fabric of history: the morning of September 11th, 2001. His words carry the stillness of shock, the weight of grief, and the realization that life can shift from ordinary routine to unimaginable tragedy in the span of a single hour.

In this remembrance, the plane is not only a vessel of travel, but a vessel of fate. It represents the fragile thread of normalcy—an aircraft scheduled like countless others before it, yet destined on that morning to become part of one of the darkest chapters in human memory. Olson’s simple recounting—his presence at the Department of Justice, the report of the two strikes—carries the power of understatement. He did not embellish, for the facts themselves were heavier than any rhetoric could make them. His words are a testament to how history invades the everyday, how tragedy enters quietly, interrupting the routine of morning, and alters the course of lives forever.

The ancients too understood this suddenness of fate. When the city of Pompeii was buried by the eruption of Vesuvius, many were at their meals, at their baths, or at their prayers. In the morning they rose expecting nothing unusual; by nightfall their city was ash and ruin. Olson’s words echo this ancient truth: the ordinary hour can carry within it extraordinary change, and the stillness of daily labor can be broken in an instant by the storms of destiny.

The reference to the World Trade Center strikes within us more than historical memory; it awakens the shared trauma of a people. Towers that had stood as symbols of commerce and ambition were felled in fire and dust. Thousands of lives were lost, and countless others were changed forever. Olson himself suffered personally that day—his wife, Barbara Olson, was aboard American Airlines Flight 77, the very plane that struck the Pentagon. In his quiet account, one can hear the echo of that personal grief intertwined with national sorrow. His quote, though restrained, carries the force of mourning known both individually and collectively.

From this, we are taught that no man or woman is immune to the upheavals of history. Whether high in office, as Olson was, or a humble worker, all alike are bound to the unfolding of events larger than themselves. The lesson is that we must hold each day with reverence, knowing its fragile beauty. The morning that begins in calm may end in chaos, and so we must live not in fear, but in readiness—rooted in love, in faith, and in the knowledge that each hour is precious beyond measure.

Consider the example of Abraham Lincoln, who on the eve of the Civil War walked the halls of the White House, aware that the peace of his nation could be shattered overnight. He once said, “I know not what the future holds, but I know who holds the future.” Like Olson, he bore witness to the reality that sudden events can alter the destiny of many. Yet both men teach us this: when calamity comes, one must not collapse into despair, but stand firm in dignity, bearing testimony to truth and guiding others through the storm.

Therefore, let us draw wisdom from Olson’s somber reflection. Do not squander the morning, for it is never guaranteed to remain peaceful. Rise each day with gratitude. Strengthen your bonds with those you love, for you do not know which hour will be the last to hold them. Attend faithfully to your work, but also hold space in your heart for compassion, courage, and resilience. For when history’s blows fall—and fall they will—those who are anchored in love and discipline will endure, and will carry others through the darkness.

Thus, Olson’s quiet recollection is more than memory; it is a warning, a teaching, and a call to live deeply. The ordinary plane, the ordinary morning, the ordinary office—all were swept into extraordinary history. And so it will be for us as well. Let us, therefore, cherish the ordinary, prepare for the extraordinary, and live with hearts awake to both sorrow and hope.