I just returned from my 20th college reunion. There are many ways in which that sentence astonishes me. But the primary one is that I went at all.
I have always had a pretty staunch anti-reunion policy. It seems to me that reunions have a best case scenario of Nothing Terrible Happened, and I don't love those odds. It's like: Please sign me up for this thing where maybe I won't get irrationally upset! It makes no sense. Or: Yes, I would love to get a vacation colonoscopy while staying at a Hilton! Actually, I wouldn't.
But I went. I adore my friends from college who are now my friends for life, and enough people wanted to go, and also, I loved college. September 1991 to June 1995 is one of the things I feel least ambivalent about in my whole life. Even with the drama -- and I'm not just talking about being a Performance Studies major -- I was happy there and I even mostly knew it.
This positive attitude is in pretty stark contrast to my feelings about high school. I have repressed most of it. I'm serious. I can remember a few important moments of course, but mostly it is a persistent, cottony haze of something I would call ennui but that seems too upscale. Before you wonder, nothing traumatic happened; the normal things were mostly successfully accomplished, but it was just off. And then it was over, and I guess my brain decided it was better to save the space for something more important. Like "Gilmore Girl" episodes. You've got to prioritize.
However, having flown successfully under the radar for nearly 20 years, my sister recently outed me to the alumni office. (I'm looking at you, N). This is not an overstatement; I think she gave them my social security number. They invited me to speak at Career Day.
I like to talk and to teach, in almost any form, and so I didn't worry about it too much. But on the day itself, as I was taking that friendly ghost walk down West End Avenue, I spotted the school. And froze. I mean my legs actually stopped working. My feet became weird pulsing lumps. I was flop sweating in cashmere weather. I tried to remind myself that I was there to share my adult wisdom for Christ's sake, and when the cortisol surge finally slowed, I managed to walk through the school doors, which looked different than I recalled.
The verdict in the end: After a (literally) shaky start, I was ambulatory and Career Day was great. The school was nice, the people were friendly, the talk was successful. Also, the building itself was almost unrecognizable -- a result of the fancy renovation and not my blanking brain -- so, in the exhausting jargon of today, I was not triggered.
But despite the happy outcome, would I ever go back ? The answer is probably no. As I left Career Day, I thought three things: 1. Job well done. 2. I want a scone. 3. That's it. (FYI I always want a scone.) Because even if you went to high school in paradise, if you only allowed yourself to eat fat free yogurt for four years in paradise and worried a lot, not that I would know anything about that, that's where you are.
But back to my college reunion. I went and had mostly a ton of fun. My legs worked great. I saw close friends and smiled at people from my freshman dorm at the very loud party with the limp tortellini, and I paced and re-paced the beautiful, beautiful campus: Sheridan Road to the Lakefill, South Campus to Ryan Field. It was like movie magic fall weather out. I laughed with my friends. I ate Taco Bell, and the Nachos Bell Grande were a celebration, one that I am still paying for. But it was good.
And yet, not even this has altered my stance on reunions. Because in the end, it's the concept that concerns me the most. I am skeptical of any scheme in which the premise is that you go back. Can you actually go back? It's high-risk, this desire for return. Let's go back has many negative associations for me, from the slippery nature of nostalgia to my Jewish paranoia (aka remember... but keep going!) to the everyday anguish of realizing halfway to the airport that your wallet's on your desk. Let's NOT go back, okay? Whatever we're looking for probably isn't there anymore.
And yet, at the end of the reunion, people were already talking about the next one. 25 years! I absolutely will not do it ever again. Unless someone manipulates me into it or an old friend calls up or the weather seems particularly beautiful that year. I know, I am easily swayed. I really don't like reunions, but I love that I have people who can change my mind. Over and over again.