When you live in Russia, you're used to turmoil. In my 11 years here, I've witnessed the death of the Soviet Union, the capitalist revolution, money reform, economic collapse, Gorbachev's ouster, Yeltsin's surprise resignation, and two wars in Chechnya. Never a dull moment, and never predictable.

History has left deep scars on the Russian people. You really sense it, between the Second World War, Stalin and 70 years of a failed communist experiment, with Russians as guinea pigs. Each and every family has felt the uncompromising stamp of history.

And that hunger to see history being made is what kept me here and in love with this inscrutable place. I like to joke that it's akin to living on the rim of a volcano, but with lots of great art.

Being an American, the stability of home always offered a good respite from Russia's intensity. When I visited my family in the States, I was reassured by the thought that back at home, nothing is really changing. Presidents come and go, but the system stays pretty much the same. People are taking in their dry-cleaning, buying groceries, going to movies. Even the wars the United States has fought during my conscious lifetime have seemed more like minor blips on the radar. The world's troubles seemed far away, history meandering along, not being forged with white-hot energy, as in my beloved Russia.

On Sept. 11, history hit America. But I was sitting in Moscow thinking about bullfights and birthday cake. We were covering a story about a Portuguese bullfight in Moscow that was cancelled due to protests by the Russian Orthodox Church and a youth group arguing for animal rights. It was a meaty little story, but nothing earth-shattering. That day also happened to be my birthday, but I had decided to spend the evening writing the story and not celebrate until the weekend.

The TV was on, my laptop on my knees, and I was writing the story as the towers came down. The strangest sense came over me - wanting to do something, but not knowing what. I wanted suddenly to be back in America and go through this thing with the rest of my compatriots. My parents called from Los Angeles to ask why I picked this day to be born, and friends called from Boston and Chicago and L.A. to wish me a happy birthday and commiserate about how things would be different for everyone after this day. We were all trying to reach our friends in New York.

And many, many Russians called me to offer condolences and make sure my friends and family were okay. A lot more went to the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, bringing flowers. They arrived always in an even number, according to Russian tradition for the dead. Whatever anti-American sentiment was there, before or after, it wasn't felt on Sept. 11. Russians cried, knowing the horror at what America was facing. They know all about history being made.

This sentiment was echoed on the official level as well. President Vladimir Putin surprised many by being one of the first world leaders to offer condolences and assistance to President George W. Bush and the American people. Russia's foreign policy has, at times, been very much at odds with that of the West. Alliances with North Korea, Belarus and Iraq are just some examples. But there was no hesitation after the attacks, as Russia made it clear it would support Bush's war on terrorism.

Naysayers here grumbled that the U.S. had supported the mujahedeen in their prolonged war against the Soviet Union, which ultimately led to the rise of the Taliban. There was a sense in the press and among some Russians that the Sept. 11 attacks were a problem of the United States' own making. Still, the Russian government committed to intelligence, logistical and humanitarian assistance, and permitted the use of bases and airspace in the Central Asian republics in its sphere of influence. The Russians stopped short of sending troops to Afghanistan, having had such a painful history of warfare there. I heard many warnings from Russians who said the U.S. and its allies would lose a war in Afghanistan, just as the Soviets did.

Critics have pointed out that Russian policy since then has made use of the war on terrorism to justify its long war in Chechnya, long criticized by the West for large-scale human rights violations by the Russian military. Many Russian politicians and commentators jumped at the chance to say, "Now you know what we've been facing," and stressed that there were international terrorists fighting on the Chechen side, some with alleged ties to al Qaeda. It is interesting to note that international criticism of that ongoing war in Chechnya has almost disappeared in the months since the war on terrorism began.

While it is true that the issue of Chechnya has been an important consideration in Russian foreign policy in the past year, Russia's stance has much deeper significance.

The attacks afforded Russia an unexpected opportunity to make an unequivocal statement: Russia wants to turn toward the West. It wants to be a part of the political and economic life of its former opponents. It wants to be considered an ally with NATO countries and is not interested in taking the other side just to flex its military muscle. The Soviet enemy is gone, the Cold War is over, and alliances are redrawn. Sept. 11th is a benchmark in this new world order, one in which Russia is on the same side as the West. Again: history being made.