It is so easy to focus on the small and insignificant things in life. The things that feel so big and so relevant in the moment.

It’s easy to obsess over a conversation on the playground with some cuckoo parent. Or, to be consumed with anger over the small injustices of the world.

The problem with perspective is that it is not enduring. You get a dose of it. A wake up call. And then, within days, you are back to your old ways.

This is a commonly mocked theme in movies. Hero is schmuck. Hero has near-death experience. Hero realizes the err of his ways. Hero makes amends. Hero goes back to old schmucky ways.

Well, I’m here to say that it is all true. The cliche, the all-too-familiar storyline. It’s real. Or, at least, it comes from something real.

My cousin had a baby. And, he is sick.

And, all I can think is: I am lucky. I am grateful. Life is good. I should be more grateful for what I’ve got. I have this deep, dark, sticky feeling in my gut. This sadness and queasy uneasiness. For him, because he is small and helpless and in pain. And for her because she is four days post-birth and if you have ever pushed a baby out of your body you will understand what that means — physically and emotionally. And, I am filled with terror. And dread. And, fear. And gratitude. And love and respect and hope.

I had been living in New York for under a month when the terrorist attacks on September 11th took place. The city I knew and had already fallen in love with changed in an instant. The city I had dreamed of, had imagined and planned for, transformed overnight.

Those were dark times. Filled with fear and loss and confusion. People were angry and vengeful and wary of one another. Of skin color, of religious beliefs, scared of neighbors and politicians and strangers near and far.

But, also, through it all — there was an amazing sense of camaraderie. Of togetherness. Of community and a shared cause. A unified vision of hope and of support and of love.

It was such a confusing time. A time I still am not sure I can even write about. I was so filled with anger because we were going to war and I felt the lives of all those innocent people were being used as a means to an end. I could hardly acknowledge the sadness over the anger. I was horrified at the act of violence and destruction that had occurred. We all felt vulnerable. New Yorkers and Americans across the country.

But, we all felt unified too.

I tried to volunteer at the World Trade Center and was turned away. All of us from SLC. Because, they had too many volunteers. There was such an influx of support that they couldn’t even manage the numbers of people lining up to offer aid. How beautiful is that? I still can’t think about anything about that attack, that day, that year, that time in our history without crying. My adoration of the firefighters and aid workers and men and women who gave their lives that day will never, ever fade.

Horrible things happen. Horrible, scary, unimaginable things. Every day. Most of us live our lives in a bubble. We wake up and drink our coffee. We go to work and come home. We eat dinner and watch television and kiss our children and go to bed. And, do it all over again. There are details in between that shift from one day to the next. But, mostly, that’s it. There is comfort in that routine. We moan and groan and wish for more vacation days and better bosses and more competent colleagues and less creeps on the subway. But, that’s our lives. Monotonous, mundane, predictable.

And then, in one moment. It all changes.

Your mother is diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimers. Your 10-month-old falls down nine concrete stairs. You’re rushed to the hospital for emergency life-altering back surgery.

Life is messy. Mostly it’s not. Mostly it’s kind of boring. But, as the cliche goes — when it rains it pours. And, when life is pouring down on you. Ceaselessly. And when you feel like you will never get back to normal. When you crave that monotony, that boring, tedious job, that humdrum life — you glimpse just for a moment how great it actually is. How lucky you are. And how fragile it all is.

I am grateful to have a husband who is kind and loving and brilliant. A daughter who is gentle and sensitive and hilarious. I am grateful to have people who love me and who let me love them back. I am grateful for family and for friends. For a career that is meaningful and for a body that is, mostly, getting by pretty well in the world.

It is so precious. And, so fleeting. And, I know I will forget this in one week’s time. But, life is good and there is so much to be thankful for.