Nostalgia and Reunions
I’ve never really been one for reunions; they always have a weird feel to them. Maybe it’s just me, but for the most part the people I want to keep in touch with I already keep in touch with in various ways. That’s not to sound elitist or anti-social; that’s just the way I am.
Writing this has caused me to reflect on this and try and put my finger on exactly what bothers me about these events. Maybe it’s the sense of using the reunion as a measuring stick, a way of seeing who “is winning” and who “is losing”. Perhaps it’s the inevitable feeling of nostalgia and regret for opportunities missed, or friends that have passed away. Or it could just be the desire to have the events, people, and situations that happened in the past stay in the past.
I used to feel that going to these events was somehow mandatory; that if I didn’t go I was showing some flaw or issue with myself. I finally realize that isn’t the case - if I want to go, I’ll go. If not, well, I have friends and family to occupy my time. I have the present to occupy my time.
Today’s Poetry Monday features the piece below by A.E. Stallings; his imagery, pace, and word choice capture many of the emotions and feelings I had thinking about my 20th reunion.
Written on the Eve of My 20th High School Reunion, Which I Was Not Able to Attend
Just what I needed,
Just when the dreams had almost totally receded,
The dreams of roles for which I learned no lines and knew no cues,
Dreams of pop quizzes with no pants on and no shoes,
Just when I understood I was no longer among
Those ephemeral immortals, the gauche and pitiable young,
Suddenly come phone calls, messages sift out of the air
To ask who will be there:
Names I haven't given a thought to in a score
(A score!) of years, and names I used to think about but don't much anymore,
And those I think of all the time and yet
Have lost somehow like keys to doors I've closed, and some I have tried to forget—
And some who will never arrive at this date
Here in the distant future where we wait
Still surprised at how
We carry with us the omnipresent and ever-changing now.
We wince at what we used to wear,
Fashion has made ridiculous the high hubris of our hair.
Heartbreak, looked at through the wrong end of distance's glasses,
Is trivial, and quickly passes,
Its purity embarrasses us, its lust,
The way we wept because it was unjust.
Why should we travel back, who've come so far—
We know who we are.
How can we be the same
As those quaint ancestors we have left behind, who share our name—
Why have we inherited their shame?
-- By A.E. Stallings