Today’s Random Prompt: Imagine you are at your next high school reunion. How do you think your old high school friends would react to the person you are today?
I’ve been to enough high school reunions that this is no longer a speculative question, but let’s play pretend and imagine that it’s 2026, and I’m attending my 40th high school reunion, having spent the past 40 years off the Internet grid and not in close contact with anyone I was close to in high school.
What’s the same? I always excelled as a student, so no one would be surprised that I got a Master’s degree in English or that I’m teaching Philosophy at Three Rivers College.
I always wanted to be a writer, so no one would be surprised that I’m a freelance writer for the local newspaper or that I’ve published three novels. (It would be nice if the news motivated them to buy my books, though, if I’m being honest.)
I was heavily into band in high school, so it wouldn’t surprise anyone to learn that I still play the drums and that I was part of several different bands over the years, nor would it surprise anyone to know I can still play oboe, clarinet, and saxophone.
What might be surprising?
The most amazing thing would probably be my 30 years of sobriety, although anyone who ever saw me on the weekends in high school would more likely be surprised that I’m still alive; the sobriety would probably be more of an explanation than a revelation.
I didn’t date much in high school, so the fact I’ve been married for 27 years with six kids and six grandkids is likely to be an eye-opener for a few folks.
I’d like to think that having all my hair and being reasonably fit at 54 years old would be seen as a nice feature.
Other than that, I don’t really feel like I’m that different. I’m less angry but still passionate about a lot of things. I’m still a nerd who loves sci-fi and fantasy and TV shows and movies and music. I still like deep conversations about heavy thoughts where I use a lot of big words.
I’m less pessimistic, overall, but my attitude about the world is more quiet resignation than any kind of optimism. I’m at peace with who I am and where I’m going in the big picture of life. I used to “rage against the dying of the light”; now I’m much more Buddhist in that I know someday I’ll have to let it all go.
But not quite yet. I have more books to write, more songs to play, more roles to act, more classes to teach, more grandkids to play with. I’m much more alive than I was 40 years ago, and for that, I’m profoundly grateful.
That would probably come as a surprise.
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