Let me say, this is a response that has evolved over the years. While I wasn't Patty Simcox-excited about my 5-year high school reunion, I also wasn't without some curiosity about who would show up, what people would look like, and what my classmates would be doing with their lives. It was a low-stress event--a casual picnic with no speeches, plenty of booze and best of all, no dancing.
I attended my 5-year college reunion as well and while I'll never make a special effort to go back to another, it wasn't TOO terrible. Sure, I spent the majority of conversations answering nosy questions about my failed marriage (already a bit of a freak because I had been married to begin with), and there was the Twilight Zone-worthy familiarity about hanging out at Kenyon watching everyone slip naturally and effortlessly back into their 19 year-old selves (complete with meaningless liaisons and stomach pyrotechnics), but it was fun, right?....
But, a whole new terror is on the horizon. An event I had never planned to attend, much less plan. An event so cliched and generally acknowledged to share a place on the Pain Scale with root canals, that I don't even know if it's worth writing about. In a month, I will attend my 10-year high school reunion. (A note of attained wisdom--when volunteering for class offices as a high school senior, consider how that college resume-building distinction may saddle you for the rest of your life.)
Unfortunately, logical or not, I have never looked forward to an event less. Not because it won't be nice to see people and hear what they're up to and see pictures of their husbands/wives/kids/pets/cars, but because I don't want to see myself through their eyes. It becomes more apparent as time goes on that there were very few people who really knew who I was back then, and who could blame them? I constructed such an elaborate version of myself for others, that I was a persona, not a person. I didn't have a group, I floated between several. I had a "popular", nice boyfriend, which kept me from total dorkdom and allowed me to attend "important" events like proms and sporting events. The most comfortable I felt was in my "smart" classes, but I had to be careful not to seem too smart, lest I alienate people.
I remember being in self defense class one morning, and we were supposed to envision our futures. Then we were supposed to take a few minutes to look around the room at the other girls and envision their futures. One really nice girl raised her hand and said, "Anna's going to be the first woman president." In a few weeks, I'm going to see this person and say, "Actually, I'm a political consultant/massage therapist...yes, I was married...he was an alcoholic....I live in Hugo...it's near White Bear...my manfriend owns a place up there...the legion has really good popcorn." While I've never aspired to the presidency, I did think I wanted to be in the diplomatic service. That way, at least I could be out of the country. But like so many of my other endeavors, that one is half-baked. Something about the State Department's stern position on Intention has made me hesitant. And so the inner battle between what I want to do and what I should want to do, rages on.
All of this could really be solved by adhering to one of the Modern Lady of Leisure rules (to be outlined as the blook develops)--Always Accept an Offer to Travel.
Why the hell didn't I get one for September 18th?
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