Back to high school – a post-pandemic perk

How many of us, given the chance, would choose to return to our high school days? I don’t know about you, but I certainly was not my best self at 17, nor my happiest.
 
And yet…I recently spent a weekend away with a group of eight high school girlfriends, our third weekend together in three years! Had our full complement been there, we would have been ten.
 
If you’d told me when I was a teenager that I would be planning getaway weekends in my 60s with this group of ten women, I would have laughed. No way, my introverted, self-conscious, overly judgmental teen self would have thought. Back then, I would have fretted over who was better friends with whom, over where I fit on the popularity spectrum (not high), over what they’d all think of me, my clothes, and every word I spoke.  
 
Not any more. Thanks to Darrel’s inspiration and organization, a monthly Zoom get-together was launched during the isolated period of the pandemic. The group soon expanded and stuck at 10. What we all found in each other was a gift we wanted to cultivate, so we stuck with it.
 
Once you’ve reached your 60s, all those adolescent preoccupations (well, almost all) have lost their power. I wasn’t capable of seeing into other people clearly as a teen, I was too absorbed in looking inside myself. At 64, I find in this group of contemporary women a world of riches – a wealth of life experiences, honest vulnerabilities, shared compassion, and a treasure trove of stories, triumphant, tragic, and enlightening. It seems we have all learned to see each other’s humanity and buoy each other up. Some of these women I hadn’t been in touch with for decades. There’s so much to learn from each other’s stories, and from sharing our own.
 
But there’s also that other thing – that layer of our past where we overlap. These are women who shared kindergarten class, who went to the Strawberry Festival during middle school, who wore those awful gymsuits and flew off the hump-a-jump in Mrs. Meredith’s gym class, who painted “Class of ‘78” on The Rock, who devoured giant deli sandwiches at The Little Store, who finagled fake student id cards to buy beer at 16, who had Mr. Lipkin for Latin, who stayed up all night after the senior musical. Even if we didn’t do all these things together, they inhabit our mutually remembered spaces.
 
Isn’t it funny how, when you’re with someone you knew in your youth, you see them as you knew them? During our most recent weekend gathering, we walked around the extraordinary grounds of the Glenstone Museum. I caught myself feeling I was with a bunch of 17-year-old contemporaries. It was startling to suddenly register the truth of our graying hair and wrinkled necks. Whoa. We got old!
 
But our young selves are still in there. That’s what it means to hang out with old friends, or new friends that you knew when you were young. You are reminded of that youthful self who emerges more readily with this crowd than in the courtroom or the boardroom or the classroom.
 
There’s this one silhouette picture from the weekend that stands out for me: A group of us saw ourselves in shadow on the floor of a sunken monument, and we automatically struck whimsical poses. There we are. We could be any age, animated by our shared history and our shared present, shadows of who we were and who we are and who we may still become.

Thanks for the good times, ladies.