The simple things.
Yet honestly, if I lost my home I’d be devastated. And I’d be inconsolable if something happened to my mom, who still lives in the house I grew up in in New York. (She’s fine, by the way. Only lost cable and Internet and mail. Yes, my mom uses the mail.)
As much as I love California, I was born and raised in New York, and have a strong connection with everyone there. It’s both surreal and heartbreaking to see a hurricane destroy this part of the country, and as tough and proud as my fellow New Yorkers can be, they have every right to take their time to get through this.
We don’t need to reimagine every disaster as a tale of heroism. We don’t need to turn every funeral into a celebration. A divorce is not a birthday party or a high-school reunion or a three-day spa getaway. Just as there’s a time to meditate, a time to live your best life, a time to be “fierce,” there’s also a time to cry hard, a time to be overwhelmed and a time to eat big doughnuts in bed. We all have a right to feel sorry for ourselves, and a right to even feel bad about that, too. So for God’s sake, let’s stop rushing to get to the good part.
You’ll pull through, New York. When you’re ready.
