Get-togethers aren’t like the way we hung out before. Now it’s all about status reports, plans, stories. I tell a lot of stories. It’s a way of understanding what’s going on. I’m surprised at how much has happened in my life since then. Is my life really all that dramatic? Like a soap opera, they say. But it’s just life. I try to ask about other people’s lives. Not a lot of stories to tell yet—they’re still thinking, still seeing how life will turn out.
There’s a mailing list somewhere, a website. There’s probably even an RSS feed telling people of relationship changes, job changes, life
changes. Someday it will tell us of births, deaths, lingering illnesses. I should know about this, but I don’t. I never really got to know all my other classmates when I was in high school. I’ve kept in touch with a handful of people and they tell me of all the rest. I’m not one of those connected people. I don’t tell other people’s stories. But now it hits me, now I feel this urge to know. We starve for companionship, being part of a cohort of other people learning about life for the same time, the startling glimpses of similarities
with people who seemed irreconcilably different back then.
The rest of them are closer. They go to reunions, have parties, write. I’ll be away, but maybe I’ll make it back for the tenth anniversary
two years from now. What can one do in ten years, anyway? It seems like barely enough time to finish university and get started in life.
Is that just me? I’ve been in school. That’s what’s kept me busy. Other people might have stopped at university. Six years is enough to
do well in a company, or at least get somewhere. But hey, I went to a geek school; other people must have gone for postgrad. I won’t be the only one. We’ll see.
In the meantime—life needs to be lived.
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