by mollykl

I love history. I love the random facts and the morning-after quarterbacking. But mostly I love the perspective. Husband J likes to tease that the only reason I wanted a smart phone was for the “This day in history” app. Every morning before work I check in and see what happened on “this day in history”. Frequently, to the chagrin of my co-workers, I will repeat whatever I’ve read, ad naseum. As one of them succinctly told me, “Yeah, we don’t care.” To which I replied, “You should.”

I have a job interview today. Approximately five hours after I drop son J off for his first day of kindergarten I will be interviewing for the job that, not four weeks ago, I said in my annual review I wanted, could do, and would kick ass at. A position is available, and I didn’t even hesitate before I applied for it.

It’s rather perfect, having the interview today. I tend to get in my own way in things. Over think them, that sort of thing. Having the interview on what is such an important day for J and for me, as a parent, takes a lot of that away, and focuses on the reality of my life. J is important. My work is important too, but it comes nowhere close to J.

On this day, in 1972, in Munich, West Germany, 9 Israeli athletes were killed. Regardless of how the interview goes, I’m going to remember that, because that’s what history provides, a sense of perspective. That knowledge that what you are doing now is important to you…but what happened 30 years ago is important as well. Every morning I read about what happened two, ten, twenty, two hundred years ago and I think: how have things changed? how have they stayed the same? are we any better? It’s that perspective that helps me keep it together. Life seldom goes the way we wish, it goes, well, as it goes.

So, if you can, spare J a positive thought, send me a “good luck”, but never, never forget, that there’s more to each day than what your to-do list or calender says.

They have now said there were 11 hostages; two were killed in their rooms yesterday morning, nine were killed at the airport tonight. They’re all gone.
—Jim McKay, 1972