Cover letter

As I’ve continued slogging through what is becoming an interminable job search, I have written hundreds of cover letters. Each time I’ve patiently explained how my wide array of skills and my towering intellect would make me an ideal fit for their particular company, whether they purvey widgets, financial services, intellectual property or snappy repartee. Some of these letters have merited a response; far too many others have likely never been read by human eyes.

I will continue to keep writing cover letters until I have latched on somewhere, but it won’t be pleasant. I’ve always been more comfortable writing about other people than I am about myself. While I have my introspective moments, I’m a lot more interested in the people in my life than I am in myself. Every day I make it a point to tell my wife and my kids how lucky I am that they are in my life, even if I’m temporarily frustrated or irritated with their behavior. The people in your life and the experiences you share with them are what give life meaning, not the material possessions you happen to acquire as you pass through your limited earthly leasehold. At this late date my wife and I have not acquired a cell phone, or an iPod, or a wireless internet connection, or digital cable television. We don’t have a television in every room. We don’t drive fancy cars. Our kids have plenty of toys, but with the exception of my son’s Game Boy, the toys aren’t especially high tech. But we haven’t really missed these things.

What has mattered this year, and will matter next year and every year thereafter, are the opportunities and experiences we have as a family. I’ll remember the image of Ben standing on the pitcher’s mound, with a facial expression simultaneously exhibiting glee and terror, as he faced other kids wielding baseball bats for the first time. I’ll remember the image of Maria, contorting her face into a mask of determination, letting out a high-pitched yelp as she smacked the baseball from the tee using a bright red metallic baseball bat. I’ll remember the smiles of the kids as they clambered up the model grain elevator at the Minnesota History Center, or gazing in wonder at the enormous, room sized geometric paintings displayed at the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts. I’ll remember the uncontrolled giggles at the breakfast table as Ben and Maria attempted to recreate the repartee of Groucho Marx and Margaret Dumont that they had seen the night before. And I’ll remember the beatific smile of my wonderful wife as she watched our children cavort.

Our current circumstances are temporary. Things will get better. But while it would be easy to see our circumstances as straitened because of our current financial worries, it would be wrong. I remain optimistic precisely because 2006 has been, in its own way, a very good year.