"Yes, thank you. We're alive and okay." I write in another one of the many emails I sent this week.

I'm not complaining. Many friends and relatives have popped out of the blue to ask us how we were doing and I am thankful for their concerns. This is not about how popular I am; it's about the contents of the emails. The words I type and then erase in each letter.

I always start to type "We're alive and safe." But then I delete the last word. It doesn't ring true. Yes, I am alive and my back, neck, and jaw might be in excruciating pain, but none of it matters compared to the fact that I've survived. So I don't whine about my health. I am thankful.

But I don't feel safe. I haven't felt safe since Tuesday morning. For the first few days, I was scared to leave my apartment. And then, we went out and took a long walk. I wanted to get as close as possible to downtown. We walked twenty blocks south to Union Square but couldn't go farther. On Friday, we met a few fellow New Yorkers. The feeling of unease never left me.

On Saturday, we went to the movies. As Keanu Reeves taught several kids how to play baseball, I kept thinking a bomb was going to fall into the theater. What if? I kept asking myself. What if a bomb fell? I had no idea of course. I have no idea. Deep down I know that the chances of a bunch of terrorists bombing my local movie theater are highly unlikely, if not ridiculous, yet I can't get the thought out of my mind.

Today, I walked into a high-rise: a work building in midtown Manhattan. As I rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor, alone, negative thoughts overloaded my mind. I have never suffered from anxiety attacks, but today I got as close to one as I ever remember.

It's been almost a week since the awful day. I've accomplished pretty much nothing in the last week, unless watching CNN can be considered an achievement. In the last two days, I've read a most amazing work of non-fiction about the trials and triumphs of twelve gifted inner-city school students. Their stories are inspiring, disappointing, heart wrenching, uplifting and educational. The writing is captivating and flows effortlessly. I have enjoyed the book thoroughly and learned a tremendous amount. And I'm thankful for the few hours of distraction it gave me.

But I don't think I can feel safe again for a long time. I know this isn't over. I know it barely began. I'm worried about the rest. I'm worried, each night I go to bed, about the world that might wait for me when I wake.

Yes, I am alive, for now. But I am far from safe.

Previously? Motion.