...I had my fifteen-year high school reunion last weekend. There were 43 people in my high school class, which I think means barring any drastic weight loss, gain, or dramatic plastic surgery, we can see each other every five years and feel like not much has changed.
I got ready in my mom's hospital room (she is home now). Nothing like flourescent hospital lights to bring out the wrinkles that you have no makeup to hide.
It was a wonderful night, concluded with a reading of our senior superlatives from the yearbook (I love the coffee table...beer bottles mixed with a shape sorter? Can you tell we are all in the midst of toddler craziness? It's a new drinking game! Beer and shape sorting! Kinda like quarters?):
It's safe to say that I like the people I went to high school with more today than I did fifteen years ago. I've been thinking about it a lot over the last few days, and in Brad Paisley style, I wrote a letter to 18 year-old me. What can I say? I should have been a country music songwriter.
At your fifteen-year reunion, there are lawyers, therapists, and a lot of people who could do your taxes. There’s an emergency room doctor, writers, a producer.
You all dress better than you did fifteen years ago – but that isn’t hard considering you graduated in the era of flannel shirts and overalls and before flat irons.
You will lose touch with almost all of your 43 classmates, but through something you’ll wish you invented called social media, you will reconnect with almost every single one of them.
There are lots of moms, and lots of dads. So many babies, so many born within days of each other one summer fourteen years after you graduated. Your prom date, Joe, had a son seven days before your daughter was born.
You no longer think Phish is all that great, but Dave Matthews is a big part of your iTunes library. Don’t worry, you’ll figure out what iTunes is soon enough. Buy Apple stock.
You will understand very few of the inside jokes on your own yearbook page or messages written to you from your friends fifteen years from now. You will not remember why you harbored resentment or held a grudge toward one person or another.
You will not marry a Sallies guy, as your senior page predicted, but you’ll marry a good guy. A wonderful guy. You will bring two lives into this world, fast and furiously.
At your reunion, you will laugh until you cry thinking about how stupid, naïve, young you really were.
E-mail is not a flash in the pan.
None of your “dreams” came true, but dreams you didn’t even realize you had have come true.
You will know sadness you can’t imagine right now, but you’ll also feel happiness you didn’t even know existed. Hug your mom. Tight.