Reuniting

With my college reunion rapidly approaching, I wanted to come up with something pithy and clever to say about it, something that would resonate with anyone still on the fence about attending their own reunion, something funny about hoping to still be recognizable. After all, reunions are a classic insecurity trigger, what with the inevitable wrinkles and looming hair loss and possibly less-than-successful-pre-reunion diet, among other superficial worries. Right before any reunion, I myself tend to discover how much I hate all of my clothes, none of which can magically make me look 22 again. With our last gathering having been cancelled because of Covid, you can imagine how my wardrobe review is going this time given the ten-year interval of poor fashion choices to consider rather than the usual five. Frankly, for a long time, I didn’t even consider going to this one.

Then I thought about Amy.

As you might expect for a group forty years out of college, our class has lost a number of members, sad news I’ve typically discovered through the alumni magazine or Facebook. The death of a peer is always shocking even if, like me so far, you weren’t close to the person. But with the utmost respect to the other deceased members of our class, Amy is the one I think of most often.

Truth be told, I didn’t really know her at all either. I think Amy’s passing hit me harder than the others because she lived on the same freshman hall as one of my closest friends, who had told me about Amy’s remarkable spirit during her long, difficult illness. Through our mutual friend, I also knew that, like me, Amy had two sons, young men who tragically lost their mom right as they were starting their own adulthoods. Ultimately, it just seemed like Amy was a generous, unpretentious soul who had a loving family and who deserved much more time than she got.

A couple of years ago, when most of my friends and I were approaching a painful, milestone birthday, it would have been easy to get caught up in sadness and regret about the doors we’d closed or never had a chance to open, about the losses and failures we’d experienced along the way. Instead, I thought about Amy, who no doubt would have been thrilled to have had the opportunity to celebrate that depressing, landmark birthday.

Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t gone down some weird rabbit hole where I’ve become obsessed with a dead classmate. But aging can be hard in a lot of different ways. And although we all talk about living in the moment and never forgetting everything can change in the blink of an eye, in the mundane swirl of daily life, we often do forget. So, every once in a while, at those times when I find myself worrying about something unimportant, the thought of Amy reminds me to stop complaining and focus on the positive.

That’s the energy and inspiration I’m trying to channel now in the lead up to this year’s reunion. Although I can only say “trying” since I still find the prospect of going somewhat daunting and have only semi-committed to attending. Meaning that although I’ve registered with the college and reserved a hotel room, I could still cancel both without penalty.

But I’m hoping not to cancel.

Because I suspect the real penalty would be missing the chance to see a lot of people in person who I usually only cross paths with on social media. To connect with them in the place where it all began, when we were young and hopeful and, if not carefree, perhaps at least a little less encumbered. Because no matter what wear and tear we’ve endured so far, we’re actually lucky to have this chance to roll into town in all our fat, bald, wrinkly glory, and at least for one weekend, reunite with the people we used to be.