Weathering Reunion

When lightning ripped through campus along with winds that took down trees, people scattered for shelter, and we chalked up our graduation as the first in 208 years to be completely disrupted by weather. That entire spring had held a heavy forecast, with important days rained out, altering ceremony and tradition. And after many years now, it seems little has changed; our latest reunion this weekend again faced conditions that forced us indoors.

As a result, “How about the weather?” became a common refrain—a lame opening to conversation that only ever leads to discussion of the mundane: marriages, children, careers—yes, yes, all very interesting. It allowed everyone to talk about the sunny aspects of life, and that is probably the order of things given the amount of time that’s passed. And it might have continued, but then the rain took its toll.

Incrementally, what forced us inside, into places that were most formative to us—the buildings, the bars, the bedrooms—somehow turned us back out into the storm. One-by-one, the awkward pauses in conversation, which at first meant there was little left to chat about, became filled with confessions or asides. The politeness of strangers receded, revealing the honesty of college kinship.

As we moved past banter about the bright aspects of life, I again saw my friends—for the first time in a long while with all the happiness and fear that makes up a whole. I am not accustomed to this, to revisiting the memories and experiences of others with whom I was once close, but now mostly only know as a memory…or as is often the case on Facebook. And while it provoked many questions, after a while I had more for myself than I had for them.

Where was I, for example, for my college buddy who put his best friend to sleep sick one night only to find him dead the next morning? Where was I for another whose life was shaken late because of diabetes? Or another who spent a week in hell deciding how to deal with his pregnant girlfriend? But then, where were they when a car collided with me, upending my own life for a time?

Big or small, each issue represented distance from the image I had locked people into many years ago—one reinforced or refined by selective status updates or emails here and there. My surprise at how good everyone looked for the time passed eventually became undermined by the realization that perhaps my expectation of outward appearances had been tempered by occasional views of their lives online. What didn’t come across, however, was the mellowing or hardening or sharpening of what was inside—how these people had become more themselves.

Even those who when last I saw them were a little “off”, now, not unlike with long-distance sailing, had veered very far from the course of sanity a hundred miles later. They looked the same, but they’ve become entrenched in the quirkiness of their youth. Whereas once I thought they exhibited a sign of genius, now without remarkable achievement, are just strange—as opposed to eccentric, the acceptable alternative.

How was I to know? It turns out that all we have to stay in touch with each other offers little understanding and consolation in the end.

So from a stormy graduation meant to get us looking ahead, to a stormy reunion meant to get us looking back, what I ended up seeing is that it is most important to simply look around. For in every life there's the passing and breaking of storms, but its about who we let inside and weather them with along the way that makes the difference. 

Comments

[Chuck Conconi]

I like this latest post. You found an effective way of opening and closing with the tempest of time. What I would recommend for it, is a focus on one or two close friends as a way to make the astute observations on the first milestone reunion (the tenth. You can follow their successes or failures or the tragic circumstances they have endured or failed to endure. This milestone reunion creates some insight into what they are, who you are. The events of the past 10 years are an inescapable prologue to the capricious life we are live.

[Jamie]

I recall walking through huckleberry field with you and Pete W. as you were on the mend. The red, green, and blue hues were striking yet soft, welcoming you back to the mountains. It seems to me that it was most important to simply walk with friends, not to simply look around.

[S]

Seems very lonely. Ah, to have lived one's life in 10 years and to think marked achievement must happen by then or not at all. . . . The storms are the predictions we make and the revelations we make to ourselves. But, sometimes the sunshine in it all is to say small moments are achievements. Everyone is always becoming more themselves, but selves are in shift, always, tethered by desires, fears, philosophy and responsibility to the here and now. Yes, to focus on a small moment, a small specific detail would be helpful, but such a focus would take away from the loneliness of this piece. Perhaps the question is why is the author always alone, staring at these conversations from a distance, never truly entranced by a piece of the conversation, but taking them as a distant whole?