On this day each year, I’m supposed to be remembering the thousands of lives lost as the Twin Towers collapsed 11 years ago. I do, of course, commemorate the innocent men and women (and children) who both passed away and risked their own lives to save others.
But to me, September 11 is also a day of gratitude and inspiration. My father realized — as he was running to Battery Park six blocks away from the Towers, face mask attached to his ears and debris raining down—that life is too short, too precious, to not be living it to the absolute fullest. In our family, living life to the fullest, I soon found out, meant saying goodbye to our charming lifestyle in Connecticut and flying over 3,000 miles, across the “pond,” to a little island of four-leaf clovers and major downpour. Keep reading »











