As a survivor of the tragic mass shooting in Las Vegas, I find myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. My eyes are still swollen, and my stomach churns with anxiety to the point of losing my appetite. I wish I could retreat to my bed and shut out the world. The thought of returning to normalcy feels overwhelming. Perhaps a run at the gym could help alleviate the stress, but then I realize the gym only has one entrance. Where would I even escape to?
My close friend Anna was ecstatic to see her favorite artist, Jason Aldean, perform that evening. While I enjoy country music, I was primarily there to share a fun weekend with her. On October 1, the final day of the festival, neither of us felt inclined to drink. We weren’t hungover; it was just one of those days. So, we decided to leave before Aldean took the stage to grab some coffee at the Luxor. After some light people-watching, we made our way back, finding a spot near the right side of the stage for a great view.
Around 9:40 p.m., when Jason began his set, we stood together, singing along and enjoying the moment. But just a few songs in, I heard a series of loud pops from above and to my right. In that instant, I knew—they weren’t fireworks.
Anna turned to me, her face reflecting pure terror. “We need to get out of here,” she said. We began to run, but then the shots intensified, sounding like a rapid barrage—30 to 40 rounds in quick succession. We hit the ground, and after a brief pause in gunfire, we leapt up and sprinted again. This pattern continued until we felt far enough away to run without looking back, holding hands as we literally fled for our lives.
I recognized that sound. It was not the celebratory crackle of fireworks people first assumed. I grew up in a small town in Northern Arizona, where many of the men in my life were hunters and gun enthusiasts. I have a .38 revolver in my closet as I write this. For years, I staunchly supported the Second Amendment, echoing the arguments that “bad guys will always find a way” and that guns don’t kill people—people do. I once believed that if we restricted gun access, only the criminals would have them. However, my perspective has shifted dramatically.
Now, as a high school history teacher in a suburb of Phoenix, my life experiences have reshaped my beliefs. Working in inner-city schools and teaching American history has nudged my views toward the center. I have had to confront the uncomfortable reality that my relationships have changed because of this transformation. Just today, I ended a call with my father when he reiterated the familiar “there’s nothing we can do” and pro-gun arguments. I feel isolated.
It seems that unless you’ve experienced the terror of fleeing from an assault rifle’s fire, it’s hard for others to understand. Many close to me cling to their beliefs despite knowing I narrowly escaped death just days ago. Anna and I often lament, “They don’t understand.” That bond between us is unbreakable, yet I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone.
So what can I do? There’s a growing sense of urgency in me to explore solutions. While I don’t advocate for a complete ban on firearms, I believe we can take action to make it more difficult for individuals to inflict harm. Countries like Australia have implemented effective measures—why can’t we?
Evil will always exist, and those with harmful intentions will find ways to cause chaos. But why can’t we unite to discuss solutions that add obstacles to their paths? I’m convinced we can create laws that allow individuals to defend themselves while also preventing mass shootings.
I love my country deeply. I share stories—both the good and the bad—every day in my classroom, saluting the flag alongside my students each morning. Yet, today, I don’t feel free. The fear of attending large gatherings or concerts lingers in my mind. I’m forever changed, and as a mother of two wonderful children, I worry about their safety. We cannot truly be free if fear governs our lives.
I urge everyone to engage in discussions about viable solutions. Let’s set aside our political divides, listen to one another, and seek concrete ways to make a difference. I will use my voice, even if it may not sway those closest to me. Perhaps, together, we can find a sensible approach that honors our rights while protecting lives.
If we don’t act, I’ll remain just another fortunate survivor of a mass shooting. The cycle will continue, and we’ll once again be left in shock and sadness, offering thoughts and prayers while failing to take meaningful action. It’s time for change.
In summary, my experience as a survivor has shifted my views on gun control and the need for meaningful discussions surrounding safety in America. We must address these issues collaboratively and constructively to ensure a safer future for generations to come.