Tough Times Make the Heart Grow Fonder

This was written on Wednesday night at 11pm. Sorry it took me this long to post it.

It's been too long since I last wrote. I don't know if I'm experiencing writer's block or if I'm too overwhelmed, but I am disappointed in myself and I apologize to you for falling short. I have this unrealistic fantasy that I can "do it all," but sometimes that's just wishful thinking.

Over the past couple of weeks, some truly historic events have occured. The Federal Reserve Bank cut interest rates to an all-time low, made it clear that "quantitative easing" is the preferred choice to heal the credit markets, the Detroit three were denied the necessary funds to remain in business by members of the Senate, Goldman Sachs (GS) reported the first loss in the history of the company, hundreds of the best companies around the globe announced 5 to 10% workforce reductions and my baby Slate turned 2.

While my job is to analyze the former, I am still digesting the latter. Just today, while traveling on business to Los Angeles, someone said to me, "You have three kids?" Yes, I replied, three boys. "Are you going to try for a girl?" My standard response... No, the shop is probably closed, but I like to leave the door open. For some reason, it's hard to say that I'm finished making babies. I always dreamed of having a big family. I've always welcomed chaos and, thankfully, I have it. Logan, Kyle and Slate have filled my heart in ways that I didn't know possible.

On 9/11, I was seven months pregnant with my first son, Logan. I was working in Times Square at Morgan Stanley. My husband, a small business owner, worked downtown. When the first plane hit I was sitting on the trading desk with my friends and colleagues. We didn't know what to think. Was it an accident or something much worse? We came to realize it was something much worse.

We were instructed to leave the building for fear that Times Square would be next, so I called my husband's office and we agreed that he would walk up Fifth Avenue and I would walk down and we would meet halfway. We had no idea at the time that our cell phones would not work.

When I arrived back to our apartment on 10th Street and Fifth Avenue, I was a bit of a wreck. I was very pregnant, couldn't reach any of my family members and couldn't find my husband. After hours of scouring every corner looking for me and working his way up to Morgan Stanley's Times Square office and back, my husband found me at home. You can imagine the moment we connected.

In those horrible days and then months following the attacks on 9/11 you could walk down the street in Manhattan, look someone in the eye and you knew what they were thinking. Our souls were transparent, our emotions at the edge of our sleeves and our resilience to rebuild became our life's passion.

This afternoon, I was sitting at the airport in a small Mexican restaurant. I ordered a soup and burrito as I caught up on the phone with my husband, my parents and work. Sitting next to me was a young man writing in a journal. At the table a glass of water. I overheard him ask the waitress about an item on the menu and how much it would cost. At first, I didn't think much of it but then I heard a woman at the table on the other side of him, offer him her salad. She was sitting there with her husband and they were about to catch their flight. They struck up a conversation with one another and the young man accepted the food. I sat at the table somewhat paralyzed. Should I offer him what I had remaining? Would it be inappropriate? Was this a sign of the times? For hours after I left the restaurant I thought about that young man and what that couple did.

When I arrived at the airport last night, I exited the plane and saw rows and rows of balloons at the gate across from me. Minutes later hundreds of people were standing at the gate applauding. I turned to a gentleman standing next to me and said, "Why is everyone clapping?" He replied, "This is a plane full of families who lost their loved ones overseas in Iraq." My heart sank, hearing the crowd cheer them on made me well up with tears. I was reminded of the sacrifices our military and their families make every day to keep us safe; to make sure that I don't walk down the road seven months pregnant again with the fear that I won't find my family.

That young man needed help, those families deserved support and those people who stopped what they were doing were reminded. This holiday season will be difficult for so many families. Jobs have been lost, families are fighting to make ends meet, parents are being forced to make difficult choices and lives have been turned upside down. Businesses have shut down, belts have been tightened, stores have closed, charities have suffered but the resolve to make a difference hasn't changed.

I remember watching a documentary on Paul Newman after he died earlier this year. What a brilliant philanthropist. A great actor, a great man but a brilliant philanthropist. Sometimes I get so angry at myself thinking why haven't I done something like that. I give money to many different charities that do wonderful things, but I can't help but feel that I am not doing enough. What moment will change that? What do I want to teach my children? When they look back on this moment in history what will I tell them that we did as a family to help those in need? When times were tough?

I hope this holiday season that we never forget how blessed we are. That we make a difference in each others lives. That we change the life of one child, one adult or one family. That we lend a helping hand. That we stop in the street and acknowledge each other. That we forgo our pride and ask for help. That we remember how we felt when someone lifted our spirits. That we show our children why there is no better place to live when the going gets tough.