I’m traveling home on the R train after work today, listening to Two Door Cinema Club, a record I bought a few years ago but forgot about it until I heard the Dutch guy at work playing it last week and remembered how fun it is.
This weekend marked the 20th anniversary of my high school graduation, and I must admit that I agreed to attend the reunion festivities with some hesitation. High school reunions are notorious shit shows, where you find yourself either the butt of jokes for having crashed and burned or the envy of your former classmates since you sold your tech company for billions (if I’m to believe Hollywood representations of same).
If you’ve been following along, you’ll know that I have a habit of being pretty hard on myself, so you can imagine that I’d set myself up to feel like a failure in light of my classmates accomplishments. I have some fucking accomplished classmates, I went to a pretty serious prep school, after all, and I’ve been seeing on fb what people have been up to over the years.
I expressed my fears to my husband, who, ridiculously enough, I went to high school with, and he said “don’t worry about it, you do what you do, you even like what you do, and it’ll be nice to see everyone.”
I went to my 20th high school reunion expecting to feel not super great about my life choices, and I didn’t feel that way all. Everyone’s mellowed out, everyone seems to like what they do and who they are, including me. Things aren’t exactly how they would be if I could wave a magic wand and make them exactly how I would want them to be, but I wouldn’t risk a wish on a monkey’s paw.