The First Touch in a Thousand Years: When History Becomes Human

I experience a particular kind of joy in encountering an artifact from the past. To realize that it once existed in someone’s very real, very complicated present provides a glimmer of understanding I find intoxicating. It might be a letter, a fragment of pottery, or a site or structure that has outlived generations of changing tastes and changing times. It makes my imagination run wild.

History, for me, is not a static pageant of dates, locations, and famous names. It is a long conversation with those who came before us and those who will come after. I picture a thread through time, tethered to the past and reaching toward the future. I am endlessly curious about what it can illuminate: the connections between our current experience and earlier lives, the individuals who shape us, and the events that are directly linked to our present.

I believe we are all bound by that thread. Studying history is, at its heart, an act of creating connection across time, space, and human experience. It also requires humility. The past comes to us through interpretation, shaped by our own perspectives, biases, and present understandings. One of the most difficult and necessary realizations for any student of history is that we may never know the full reality of a site, an event, or a life. History is not fixed. It is something we continually make and remake in the present, and we must remain open to that reality.

My training is in anthropology, with a focus on archaeology, and that perspective has shaped how I understand this work. When I was given the opportunity to teach student archaeologists at a summer camp, I was thrilled to share both my knowledge and my deep reverence for the past.

On the second day, one child made an extraordinary discovery: a chert projectile point. I explained what it was, how it had been made, and how it was used. The child listened carefully, paused, and reflected. They said it was amazing to be the first person to touch it since it was last held by someone thousands of years ago. In that instant, they were immersed in history. It was a brief but profound moment of connection.

I know that feeling, that sudden realization that this was real, that these moments truly happened, and that the individuals we hope to learn from truly existed.

That sense of connection and curiosity sits at the heart of the work I do. The phrase memento mori is a reminder that life is ever fleeting and that what we do while we are here matters. Studying, saving, and sharing history is my way of honoring that idea. It is an act of care for the lives that came before us and a commitment to making their stories meaningful in the present and preserving them for the future.

I did not choose to study history because I enjoy memorizing timelines or speeches or military strategies. I chose it because it is the closest thing we have to time travel. It allows us to encounter people who lived lives as layered, imperfect, hopeful, frustrating, creative, and resilient as our own.

When we engage with the past, we move beyond names, dates, and events. We begin to recognize these individuals as real people who made real, complicated, and sometimes harmful choices while navigating their world, much as we do today.

That recognition changes everything. It asks us to sit with stories that are uncomfortable, hopeful, painful, mundane, and extraordinary all at once. It challenges us to resist the temptation to reduce people to simple narratives. History requires us to listen, reflect, and share these stories in ways that make the complexity of the humanity behind them visible.

The past is not separate from the present. It shapes our institutions, our culture, our values, and lives in our collective memory. When we understand these layered histories, we are better equipped to make thoughtful decisions about how we protect our cultural heritage.

To study history is to accept a solemn responsibility. It is to say that these lives mattered and that we are all part of this continuing human story. That is why I study history — not to live in the past, but to care for it, learn from it, and make it matter now.

Because every story matters.

Lisa