I tried to compare my emotions after learning of the bombings in Madrid with those I had after 9/11. Of course, my proximity to the World Trade Center made my feelings much more acute, but in both cases, I’ve really just felt numb.

In 2001, I walked to Union Square to see the flyers of all the missing and unaccounted people. And I stopped at every bus stop to look at the faces on the posters. Each morning I went to the sports club at Chelsea Piers with the intention of swimming, but didn’t. I was at the gym the morning of September 11, and I watched the towers through the windows. In the cafe, there is a large-screen, 42-inch TV in front of a wall of windows. I remember seeing the TV image first, and being momentarily confused by the sight of smoke coming from the towers. Then, looking up and behind the TV and seeing the actual towers, several magnitudes larger, engulfed in smoke.

When I went back to the gym those first few days, I would sit at the cafe and just look out the windows. There was still smoke burning, but a void where there had been towers. I would just sit and stare out the window..

Today I kept trying to remember my trip to Spain in 2002. Did I take any of those trains — very likely yes. I took several trains between Madrid and Cordoba, Bilbao, and Seville in turn. What can I remember about them? They were just ordinary trains with ordinary people on them. I didn’t pay any attention to them really.

Then I started to think about the people. I stayed in Madrid for a little over one week, and would have encountered the service staff at the hotel, the waitstaff at the memorable and popular Bar Bardemcilla (owned by Javier Bardem’s family), and at the many museums and shops we visited. How many of the people I met then would have commuted into Madrid? How many of them could have been on those trains?

Thinking about Madrid has made me wonder about the ordinary lives of the many people killed and wounded on those trains. What did they do to deserve this gruesome end?