I just came back from Los Angeles where we hosted our 17th annual luncheon! This was my seventh, and they just keep getting better and better - something that I can't really take a lick of credit for. We have an amazing team and an incredible cause that changes the lives of young women across the country. I'm just along for the ride.
Although I was nervous about going as this was my first flight post-concussion and I worried about how I'd do, I was looking forward to leaving New York and, candidly, getting a break from the mayhem and destruction that Sandy brought us.
I was incredibly fortunate and came through the storm
relatively unscathed. The biggest disruption in my life has been that
our office remains closed. In the Financial District, right on the
river, we were hit with twenty feet of water. Our building's staff members were
trapped for days as water rushed through the streets. One panicked during the storm, feeling trapped by the water rushing up the steps of our building, he decided to swim home, but was stopped by the others - he never would have made it. I was told how one lost everything, as he lived in Far Rockaway, and yet he still delivered 100 sandwiches to the hungry neighbors on his block when he finally returned home days after the storm. The store in our
lobby -- elevated at least ten feet -- flooded so that the refrigerators
floated, merchandise everywhere. We don't have power yet and still run
on generators. Internet may come this week, but phones will take weeks
more. When I went downtown to assess, a week after the storm, it looked like a war zone.
And still, we were very lucky.
As someone who likes to think I can control everything, Sandy really knocked me for a loop. From the days leading up to it, when I prepared like a champ by buying batteries, back-up chargers, radios, flashlights, food and supplies (at one point, I had 31 rolls of toilet paper, people!), through the actual storm itself where I sat biting my nails watching storm coverage, worrying about my family on Long Island, not breathing, charging every device I had in case I lost power with my heart stopping every time the lights flickered, to the days after, when it became clear how much devastation had occurred, seeking ways I could help and trying to Facebook and tweet as much information as I could to those I knew didn't have access to information, and trying to adjust to the new normal that descended (closed businesses, lack of transportation, no office to go to).
I was hoping that the smoggy, thick air in L.A. would allow me to take my first deep breath in weeks. Sure enough, L.A., with its sunny goodness and blue skies, delivered a hefty dose of un-reality.
But now I'm back. And Sandy still happened. Foiled again!
I spent a lazy Saturday today decompressing and catching up on all of
the sleep I've missed the past, well, several months it seems. And
then I picked up my People magazine about the storm and cried the whole
way through reading about the lives lost, the homes destroyed, the
heroes created in an instant.
Sometimes I feel like the
only witness to this storm, with a responsibility to make sure that I
retell the story again and again so no one forgets. I know that's not true, and perhaps shows an exaggerated sense of self-importance, but that's how I feel. I'm like, "Is anyone else seeing this? Did I make this up? Did this just happen here?"
I cringe remembering that, in L.A. I had them switch my hotel room three times -- sure, for somewhat valid reasons. My colleagues claim I'm on the hotel equivalent of the "Do Not Fly List," a "Do Not Stay List" of sorts, so I generally experience all kinds of minor accommodations drama. It seemed like such an injustice at the time, but back in New York, it makes me feel petty and shallow.
It disturbs me that people, including me, ESPECIALLY me, have a short attention span and an even shorter memory. How do we go on without forgetting?
I mean, was there a warm bed in that hotel room? Check. Heat? Check. Ample food and drink? Running water? LIGHT? Check, check, and check. There was even a working phone and cable!
Shouldn't all of that have been enough? Check, please.
But I was trying to escape New York and all of the devastation -- I wanted everything to be perfect. I was Goldilocks looking for my blissful, ignorant slumber. And I was able to forget for awhile. I buried my nose in work, got some sun on my face, and warmed my heart by seeing an old friend in the two hours this week (literally) that I didn't work or sleep. And it felt great.
On the cab ride back into Manhattan from JFK, rush hour bumper to bumper traffic so similar to that in L.A., I almost didn't know where I was, but then my cell phone rang - a colleague
telling me that someone had to go into our building this weekend to wait
for repairs. And then another message, oh yeah, that iPhone I ordered, it's under 10 feet
of water at a store that may never open again.
Oh, right.
But as the cab made its way into Manhattan, I noticed that, somehow between last Sunday when I left, and now, it became Christmas. I love Christmas. I love the music, and the spirit, and the open heart that people approach the season with. All of a sudden there were lights everywhere and their twinkling magic caught me off guard and made me smile a little.
I've never been good at being in the moment - I'm always one step ahead worrying, or a few steps behind, dwelling and beating myself up.
Seeing the lights reminded me that yes, something awful has happened here, and it will take a very long time to recover, and maybe some things won't ever be the same. But right now, in the back of this cab inching along 6th Avenue, there are lights.
And I'm smiling.
My heart is open. It's Christmas.
And there's no place I'd rather be.
