I posted this story on my Facebook page a couple of years ago. Since it's September and we're approaching the 10 year annivesary of 9/11, I'm posting it again. It helps explain why I really don't have any more bad days ...
It was 2001 and I was in Washington DC at an academic conference. I was scheduled to leave on September 9th, but I literally ran into a friend from graduate school that I hadn't seen in years. He also happens to be the godparent of my son, Sebastian. He convinced me to stay and visit with him and his cousin, who works for the Pentagon and lives in the DC area.
I called and got my return flight to Los Angeles changed so I could leave on September 11. After we had dinner, I thought, "I need to get back and help with the kids." They were 2 & 3 years old at the time, and a real handful. I called the airlines to ask if I could get my original return flight.
The flight I would have been on if I had stayed in DC to visit was American Airlines Flight 77, the plane that slammed into the Pentagon.
I think about this every September 11th, and try to remember it whenever I think I'm having a bad day.