We couldn’t leave out of the magazine mention of how life has and continues to change for most of us since the events of September 11.This submission was sent to us at the end of last year and we thought our readers would find it compelling and thought provoking as we gather with our families at Passover.

3:32AM and I can’t get back to sleep. Again. The monsters under my bed, dormant for almost 40 years, have returned. Thing is,when I put on the light, they don’t go away. 

The skyline I’ve loved all my life suddenly makes me edgy, as does seeing Ramon, my postman, now dressed like a surgeon. I hail a cab and then seek a method for balancing suspicion and the subsequent guilt I feel as I unwittingly become a racial profiler. 

There’s a new Israeli security guard at the temple and he wants to see my ID every day when I drop off my daughters. In my living room, Public Television and Nickelodeon have been currently usurped by CNN and MSNBC, and the phrase "this just in" has gone from worthwhile update to chilling alarm. While I must be mindful to limit Annabel’s (4) and Rosalie’s (6) exposure, I must also be mindful when answering their questions. "How to talk to them" requires simply listening. They let me know how much they can handle. 

Like many of us,my own daily search for solace is a challenge. Work provides some relief, if only in the now-welcome form of good old-fashioned hassles. And as we vacillate daily between paranoia and vigilance, between paralysis and progress, we devour the ultimate soul food: routine. 

A double de-caf at Starbucks after drop-off, our 10AM exercise class. Friday night’s Shabbat and Challah, Saturday afternoon at grandma and grandpa’s, Sunday afternoon with the Giants. Familiarity breeds no contempt during wartime. Never has my daughter’s hand felt so warm, or the weight of my wife’s head on my chest at night been so nourishing. I don’t need a book of affirmations to tell me that each day is a gift. Not now, not since. 

Mastery of small tasks also provides refuge. Frying latkes feels better than buying from the deli. The comforting aroma that travels the apartment, the enveloping wave of warmth, the crackling of the oil. The task alone consumes and the end result, loose threads and all, says, "I can take care of us." At the gym, the muscle I feel in a workout holds at bay the creeping powerlessness that infects so opportunistically. Something tangible to push against, to control, and best of all, to defeat. 

Trying to make any sense out of the world, as it seems to implode, is an overwhelming challenge. While we were busy watching our monthly investment portfolio, in a dark cave in the desert a new Hitler was quietly growing. And now the anguished question is posed almost daily by philosophers and news anchors alike: how could so much of civilization hate us so deeply they would gladly give their own lives to take ours? 

It is hardly the time to consider any concept deemed remotely unpatriotic, but is there, in fact, such an animal as an ugly American? Consider that $250 handbag which could pay for food and essential medicine for an impoverished child for one year. In our zeal to ‘have nice things’ we may find ourselves spiritually bankrupt. We may impress our neighbors at the cost of our priorities. But how then, will we measure real value? 

In this new age of antidotes, resignation is fought off by proactivity. As an American, a New Yorker and as a Jew, I choose to NOT be afraid. In decimation, I will find inspiration. I will choose to see responsibilities not solely or inherently as duties; rather, I will turn them into acts of personal satisfaction, even pleasure. Maybe that 2002 SUV isn’t worth working an extra hour for every night — the hour when you would give him a bath, or read her a story. Spiraling fear and simmering anger can be consciously transformed into burgeoning pride and, with some purposeful handling, to tenderness and patience and compassion. 

Next time you go to make the bed, stop at that mirror in your bedroom. You know, the one you walk by a hundred times a week, with the scratch in the corner that you always want to wipe clean. Take a moment or five, and look in it. Should it take tragedy to spur personal growth? Who cares? There has never been a more opportune time. Grab it, hold it, breathe new life into your life. Re-focus, re-commit. To your God, your family, and your country. 

More than red, white,and blue ribbons, more than smart bombs on the evening news, this is how we win. 

The tragedy of September 11 and fighting a war reminds us, as Nathan Newman’s article does, to appreciate every moment and cherish our blessings — or as our Jewish tradition tells us, say 100 blessings a day. 

Nathan Newman is a freelance journalist whose articles have appeared in Cosmopolitan, Fitness, and The New York Daily News, among many others. He has written for various newsletters and periodicals and has appeared on a number of television talk shows such as Good Day New York and FX’s Breakfast Time,where he was a weekly segment writer and host for the two-year run of the show. He has written two independent screenplays and been a producer, a talent agent, and a publicist. He is a graduate of the University of Michigan.

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