I remember coming home from school and turning on the TV. Instead of the usual programming, there was a live news broadcast, and they were saying that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.
My teenage self remembered a similar incident in the 1940s when a bomber hit the Empire State Building. Seeing the WTC now, I just wondered how long it would take to repair the damage.
Shortly after, I logged onto my dad's computer and logged into a video game forum where I used to post regularly and had even been promoted to moderator.
That day, no one was talking about video games; everyone was talking about what had happened in New York. One user wrote that he was going to fly to New York and donate blood.
Meanwhile, I had the TV on, and suddenly there was a lot of smoke, and the reporter said he couldn't see one of the towers anymore. My mother came home a little later, completely shocked. She said there was going to be a huge war.
It was the first time I realized that this event could affect me personally. Until then, it had all seemed like something that happened far away on another continent.
I was seeing a psychotherapist at the time because I had anxiety problems in school. I took the subway to his office, and on the way there, you could hear people everywhere talking about the attack. At the office, my therapist asked me what had happened. He'd only heard about it in passing, and I told him what I knew. Somehow, I had the feeling that he didn't believe half of what I was saying.
It's difficult to imagine today what a symbol the two towers were. Not just in the USA. All over the world. Even in my small European country. They were constantly featured in movies, commercials, and music videos. They were the very symbol of America. And now they lay in ruins.
Until then, I'd had the impression that our society was developing very positively. It seemed in the 1990s and early 2000s that we could solve humanity's major problems and that a golden future lay ahead of us.
Of course, there were wars. During my first years of school, there were refugee children from the former Yugoslavia in my class who sometimes told stories of tanks shelling their homes.
But generally, war seemed like something distant, something we would slowly overcome.
However, September 11th was the day my childhood innocence died.
And now it's already been 25 years.
Die Geschichte des Steingelds wird seit Jahren in jedem zweiten Bitcoin-Buch erzählt – auch im Bestseller „The Bitcoin Standard“ – und lautet so: Ein gieriger Händler flutet eine Pazifikinsel mit billig herangeschafftem Steingeld und zerstört im Alleingang ein jahrhundertealtes Währungssystem.
Das Problem: Fast nichts an dieser Geschichte stimmt.
