I’m sitting here pondering what to wear to my class reunion in two weeks. I don’t have anything in my closet that even approaches dressy, particularly summery, dressy. I hate to shop and I just don’t care about clothes. So, I’m fretting.
I haven’t seen most of the people from my high school in decades. In fact, I didn’t even attend the last class reunion due to pure apathy.
But, in the last several years I’ve re-connected with many of my high school classmates, some of whom I really didn’t know all that well in high school. Thanks to Facebook, some friendships have been kindled and re-kindled and I’m anxious to see them face to face, now that we’re all grown-ups.
I have nothing to prove and no real need or urge to impress anyone. In fact, part of the beauty of re-connecting via social networking as 50-somethings is that most of us have completely outgrown our high school personas. Thank God, right?
Yet, I feel like I do have to bow to convention or at least make an attempt to clean up and fit in, appearance-wise. Is this the old, high school need to fit-in, rearing it’s middle-aged head?
Is it the same thing that I feel when I’m with my family? I tend to revert to my 10 year-old self when I’m with parents and siblings. Do we revert back to 16 at class reunions? God help me.
I suppose we all have something to prove, if not to our classmates, then to ourselves. We want to show that we did okay, that we fit in, that we’re able to dress ourselves. That last one eludes me anymore. I used to care what I wore, but now I just don’t and I’m not sure why and it’s not worth exploring right now, seeing as how it’s very low on my personal-demon priority list.
So, I will spend the next week and a half trying to scrounge together a presentable outfit, for a get together with people that I only really know virtually at this point. And it will dog me and worry me and that’s not the reason I’m going to this event. I’m going to meet the fabulous people that have blossomed into interesting (mostly) well-adjusted grown-ups, the same way that I have.
I can’t wait to hear the stories of struggles and triumphs and growth and regression and pain and joy. We have 35 years to sift through since graduation. Who cares about my outfit?
The 16 year-old me, it seems.