Reschool Yourself

My high school reunion was this past weekend. I graduated in June 1998 from a small, Catholic high school with a class of 95 students. Although I spent a lot of time as a stressed-out overachiever, I always felt grateful for the community where each person had a unique niche. While people had loose identities as “popular,” “jock,” or “brain,” the school never felt cliquey to me. Here’s the scoop on the reunion events.

Friday: Casual pub night.

Reuniting with my classmates was much less of a big deal than I’d imagined it to be. Almost everyone looked the same, with the exception of a couple of people. Thankfully, no one seemed to care about impressing anyone with status or material success. In fact, we hardly asked the question, “So what have you been up to for the last ten years?” It was like we were used to seeing each other all the time and were just having beers and enjoying each other’s company.

Saturday morning: Tour around the school.

Same:

• Lockers, desks, curtains, the smell of the halls and classrooms. The statue of Mary with broken fingers.
• The white boards in Mr. O’Toole’s history class, updated regularly with quotes like, “Once you learn to read you are forever free.”
• Mr. Riley’s neat cursive in the Spanish room.
• Mr. DeShazer’s biology room.

Different:

• $3 million gym, which was in the fundraising stages in ‘98.
• Stronger programs and space for art, music, drama, etc.
• State-of-the-art technology, including smart boards in a couple of classrooms and new computers.
• Beautifully remodeled library with new computers. Strangely, the new library was designed with few bookcases, so the school unfortunately got rid of around 1,000 books.
• New murals around the school.
• Community garden.
• Extra counseling staff and offices.

It felt strange to be back, feeling the memories float back to me — doing homework in the hallways, changing for P.E., eating lunch on the steps of the quad. Seeing how many resources the school now has made me wish that I attended it now instead of in the mid-90s. I suppose I’ll get my wish in a couple of months, when I return to my high school classrooms. Since only a couple of my old teachers came for the tour, I was glad that I’ll get to see the rest soon.

Saturday night: The official reunion at an upscale Italian restaurant.

A few more than 56 people, including partners, showed up. We mingled over cocktails, sat down to dinner at small tables, and danced to 90s hits. The whole evening, I felt grateful to have such a strong, supportive community. Just as in high school, everyone pretty much talked to everyone else. The reunion reminded me of what a warm, interesting, and talented bunch of people my classmates are. We are all in very different places in our lives. Some have spouses and children and own homes; others are traveling the world or are in between projects; still others are in graduate school. Everyone, I felt relieved to find out, seemed to be OK with the different paths we’ve each taken, never even considering whether one was “better” than another.

Today: Watched the graduation video.

The “Top 5″ students in the class — Top 6 in our case, as a class of overachievers — all gave speeches or read a poem at graduation. I gave the welcome, and my closest friends spoke as well. Today I watched the video. We all look the same, except for our 90s haircuts and round babyfaces.

My speech focused on the unique, welcoming spirit of our class. I said that I’d miss everyone so much that I was already looking forward to our first reunion. I hoped that instead of focusing on how much money we made, or how far we’d climbed the corporate ladder, I wanted us to talk about what was really important: what obstacles we’d overcome, what we’d learned in the last ten years, and what events had changed us forever.

Watching the image of myself at age 17, I felt content that my hopes for the reunion had come true, that we care who people are and not how they look on paper. At the same time, I felt tears welling up as I thought about how much potential the future held at that ceremony — the commencement of a life full of possibility. I sometimes think that possibility is so much better than reality could ever be.

Katie, my best friend through high school and college, said in her speech that if she could leave us with only one thing, “it would be the courage to decide what in this life you really care about. What is it that is really important to you?”

Ten years later, I’m still figuring this out. I think I’m seriously asking myself this question for the first time. Many things come to mind. My closest friends and family. Meaningful work that makes positive change in the world. Making the most out of my short time on earth, every day, every minute.

Until now, I’ve considered “making the most” of life to mean striving to maximize each experience, to have it be the best version it could possibly be. Lately, as the striving and pushing and maximizing have exhausted me, I’ve started to rethink my approach. I’m trying on the attitude that enjoying life comes from taking it in stride, and allowing it to unfold without trying to control it.

I can only hope that ten years from this moment, at my 20th high school reunion, I will know what I most care about in life, have devoted most of my time to that very thing, and — most importantly — have enjoyed the process.

Similar Posts:

• The Storm Before The Calm: The Dark Side of Reschooling
• If These Halls Could Talk
• The Questions That Reunions Raise