when you grow up

you know the age-old question we ask when family is gathered around and our kids have been exposed to just enough of the world to begin to articulate the answer.

“what do you want to be when you grow up?” we wait with baited breath, reveling in the notion that our child dreams of someday becoming a doctor or a veterinarian (swoon) or perhaps even a chef (double swoon!). we think it simultaneously adorable and terrifying if their response strays from the standard fare: an actress (gasp!) or…wait for it…a professional bowler (yes, this is my youngest son’s current career aspiration).

we ask the question in a light-hearted way, knowing that the answer will change umpteen times as they grow, all while reassuring them that no matter what they choose, we will support them. “we just want you to be happy, fulfilled and successful.” that’s all…no pressure. 

but the weight of that question stays with us long after we reach the supposed conclusion. our answer to the question kicks off a lifelong trajectory toward the end goal. it’s as if, when they reach it, the stars will align and balloons will fall from the sky in a congratulatory wave of affirmation that “you’ve made it.”

pushing forty, i think it’s safe to say i qualify as a “grown up.” what did i want to be when i grew up? my answers ranged from psychiatrist to MTV veejay to lawyer to travel writer to publicist to advertising pro.

“hey wait a minute…i do work in advertising now! doesn’t that mean that someone should be rolling out the red carpet now? where’s the champagne? the streamers? the hearty pat on the back for a job well done?”

“anyone there? …bueller?”

as you get older you realize that what you are—your profession—is only a sliver of who you are as a person. work success can yield a tremendous amount of pride and personal satisfaction, but it’s hardly the measure of a life. contrary to what society holds up as the ultimate goal, achieving career success, there’s so much more to the equation. just think of all the relationships you have and all the roles you play on a daily basis. in fact, i believe we’re asking the wrong question altogether.

at the end of the day, the real question is: “WHO do you want to be when you grow up?” what kind of person? friend? spouse? parent? at the end of your life, when they’re rolling out the dirt carpet, how do you want to be remembered? odds are those gathered together aren’t counting the campaigns you’ve launched, papers you’ve written, patients you’ve seen, contracts you’ve signed. no, it’s more likely they’re reflecting on the lives you’ve touched, the memories you created, the times you helped out, listened, cried or laughed together.

when you teach your kids (and even yourself) about life’s possibilities, root their identity in something real versus a title that may or may not provide fulfillment. surely they’ll find a path toward a career, but remember that an occupation is but one line in the story of a life. what’s more essential is character—the stuff that lies beneath. deep down, are they kind, sincere, witty, compassionate, generous, adventurous, creative, loyal? do they feel empathy? value relationships? genuinely care about others? in my book, those are the things to strive for—the true mark of success. 

a new day

i’ve been weeping all morning. the memorial coverage of the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks has been gut-wrenching. we can all remember exactly where we were, what we were doing, and who we were with when the gleaming twin towers were struck. the sheer terror and unprecedented trauma in our collective hearts lingered for months after, as the footage was replayed over and over and over again.

eventually the coverage turned from tragedy to triumph in the battle of good versus evil, us against osama bin laden. for those of us who weren’t in NYC during the time of the attacks, the image of those dreaded planes hitting, the smoldering fires and the mushroom clouds of smoke, ash, debris and human bodies crashing to the ground, was seared into our minds. yet the brutal reality—the devastating impact on human lives—years after the event, seemed to fade.

for many, the impact of 9/11 on our lives has been reduced to enduring the litany of political chest-thumping on TV, longer time spent in airport security lines, taking off shoes and submitting to body scans and the occasional pat down in the name of safety.

but today’s memorial coverage reminds us that, while the motive for the attacks was political, the impact from that fateful day was on people. from the unimaginable horror came honor. from every day human beings emerged true heroes and genuine acts of courage. that the very worst of times brought out the very best in each other. i was reminded, then and now—10 years later—that we are resilient.

the stories of 9/11 teach us that more than a country, a race, a religion, we are people. who need each other. who help each other. who show us goodness in the face of so much bad.

light in the darkest hour. last night we sat riveted to the TV screen watching a special on TLC entitled “9/11: Heroes of the 88th Floor.” the show recounts the utter selflessness and bravery of two “ordinary” men who risked their lives to save over 75 people when flight 11 hit the north tower, before dying on their way to save more.

better and stronger together, than alone. a heartbreaking, utterly inspiring account of the “9/11 babies 10 years later," who lost their fathers, but have discovered the deepest of bonds with the other kids who now call themselves “BFFWAD": Best Friends Forever Without a Dad.

lucky beyond measure. countless survivors shared stories of the devastating, eerie, war-torn scene surrounding the collapsed buildings. amidst suffocating smoke and debris, artifacts of daily life were strewn across the ground, papers floating in the air, schedules being trampled underfoot as people raced to get away from the carnage. the sense of powerlessness over your own life, your fate, was visceral…and yet, with that utter lack of control, there were examples of light. and hope.  the story of “stairwell B” recounts how a group of firemen went up into the burning north tower to rescue an injured woman on the 73rd floor, only to find themselves directly in the midst of the building’s collapse. miraculously, huddled together in a section of stairwell B, with the walls disintegrating around them and trapped under debris for 3 hours, they survived.

everyday heroes. “The photograph of the little girl in a red velvet dress with her late mother's NYPD Medal of Honor hanging around her neck and dangling past her knees tugged at heartstrings across the world. Patricia Smith was 2 years old then, when she walked across the stage at Carnegie Hall to accept the honor for her mother, Moira Smith, a New York City police officer who was killed in the Sept. 11 terror attacks that felled the twin towers in lower Manhattan. Smith, 38, was the department's only female police officer to be killed on 9/11. After helping people escape the burning buildings, she went back again and died when the south tower collapsed.” (abc news). now she is 12. her biggest wish for her mother to be a part of:  not her graduation, wedding or other major milestone. no, something much simpler: “to be part of a family dinner.”

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in my household, dinner time is often far from idyllic. food on faces and on floors. scowls about stir fry instead of mac and cheese. but i wouldn’t trade the chaos for anything in the world. 9/11 reminds us: life is about simple things. goodness. gratitude. little moments—perfect in their imperfection. cherish them.