Reunion
I spent last weekend in an idyllic setting, with rolling green hills, ivy-covered brick buildings, and stately trees. It was warm and sunny, with a cool breeze. I played cornhole, drank fancy beer, and stayed up late having conversations with people I hadn’t seen in years, as well as some of my best friends. In short, it was a lovely weekend. And I’d been dreading it for nearly a year.
Why? Because it was my 15-year college reunion.
Leading up to it, I thought I was dreading it because I don’t have the trappings of traditional success at this age: a spouse, a house, kids, or a fancy career. In fact, I have none of those things. What could I possibly say to these people I hadn’t seen in years? What did I have to show for my life?
But when I arrived and settled in (to the cinderblock dorm, one thing that has changed very minimally in 15 years), I realized that the real reason I was feeling such dread was because I didn’t want to face the memories of the person I was when I was in college.
When I was in college, I believed they were the best years of my life. I genuinely loved my college, the campus, the people. I loved the way those majestic ivy-covered buildings perched high on a hill, literally looking down on the city of Worcester. I loved how attractive everyone was. I loved how small it was (just 2800 students). Most of all, I loved how chosen and special I felt, being able to go there. I fully believed that going to a “good” college would be a gateway to better things in life: a “good” job, “good” friends, “good” money — there was even that touted statistic that nearly 50 percent of people who went to my college would marry someone else from the college. It was like a secret society, except everyone else knew how good it was, too.
And while it’s true that I made some of my best friends there, and learned a great deal, and had the opportunity to study abroad, I now understand that those four years were actually very sad and difficult for me. I was very much still learning how to be a person in the world when I arrived as a first year student. And I was still learning when I graduated. (I mean, I’m still learning right now, I know, but I’ve come a long way.) College Jill was extremely insecure, afraid, and guarded. She believed no one liked her, and surely, no one would ever love her. She crushed on boys she didn’t know from afar and turned down the few who seemed interested in her. She didn’t drink (except for some Smirnoff Ices senior year, as well as Malibu and Diet Coke….ugh) or go to parties much, even though she desperately wanted to fit in, to “be cool.” She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life.
I have a lot of strong feelings about the way high schoolers are indoctrinated to believe that going to a “good” college is the only way to get ahead in life. I was so young, so inexperienced, and totally unequipped to make the kind of life-changing choice that college is. My family didn’t have any money, and when I signed those loan forms, I didn’t pay attention to the numbers. I figured I’d get a “good” job when I graduated, and I would pay it all back. I’d make it work. And I have, but I’m still paying those loans, and the fact that I was solely responsible for the cost of my education meant I had to make choices and sacrifices. The choices I made as a senior in high school have shaped my entire adult life.
ANYWAY, I think this is all to say, hindsight being what it is, I would make different choices if I could do it all over again. And that knowledge hung over me like a cloud during the entire reunion weekend. In the end, I had a good time, and enjoyed talking to the people I DO like. Despite my lack of more visible success, I’m actually pretty happy with my life right now. I’m doing work I enjoy, on a somewhat flexible schedule; I’m writing; I’m living in a city and neighborhood I love, in an apartment I love, with people I love; I’m healthy and safe and I know I am loved. That knowledge helped carry me through the weekend.
There were low moments. Unlike the somewhat anonymous life I live every day in a city, a reunion at a small college means people are looking at you. They may not be judging, but they are looking. They are seeing the ways you are the same and the ways you are different. And I am struggling with how I look these days — another journey — so the looking was difficult. I also have a hard time not comparing myself to everyone at all times, so that’s on me. There were awkward conversations and fitful sleep and not-so-great food. But there were more high points than low: someone I admire telling me I have “grace, style, wit, and swagger,” dancing with our class president, winning a game of Beirut, playing with the baby of one of my best friends at the place where we met nearly 20 years ago, laughing with friends.
Most of all, I realized that feeling disconnected from the person I was 15 years ago isn’t a bad thing. It means growth and progress. It means hope.
