Reunion Reflections

By Jim Sollecito

Want to really feel your age? Go to a reunion. Or anniversary. Of anything.

In June I did just that.

When I scanned the Cornell University Class of ‘76 group photo, I found myself surrounded by a bunch of old people.

How did that happen?

I admit, despite the effort and the thought of running into a few people I’d prefer to avoid, a reunion can be very worthwhile. I arrived feeling a bit disconnected but soon felt renewed, re-energized, even redeemed.

Reunions are like the first day of school all over again without the social stratification. But this time I am meeting people that I already knew five decades ago.

I recognized some. Some recognized me. We replayed scenes of friendship, remembered inside jokes and growing pains. We told 50 years’ worth of stories touching on ups and downs, decades of adventures, understanding this will likely be the last time we would see each other ever again.

Every part of life and every season teaches us something.

Difficult transitions can uncover strength we did not know we possess.

I’m nostalgic and even grateful for the era I grew up in. The classes, clothes, cars and music we enjoyed. And even more thankful to still be here, still fulfilling my college goal. At age 60  I like to think that I am broken in, not worn out and grateful to still be vertical, though I do lean a bit.

Change is constant. But there are times I resist because change can be uncomfortable. It asks us to let go of the familiar and trust something we can’t see. A worm that lives in a radish thinks the whole world is a radish.

At the same time, I try to accept failure with grace, because when I expect perfection, I can be disappointed. If we loosen our grip on what we know and open ourselves to what is new, then we make room for all kinds of possibilities. Even when the path is uncertain.

There are plenty of classmates who’ve achieved far more than I have. But I maintain this: the true measure of a life is not merely in achievement, but in how we meet unexpected turns. We are the sum of everything we’ve been and everything we’ve done. And still, we keep going, because there really is no other choice. As for the things we or others wish we had done differently, the answer is acceptance and forward motion.

The world moves without asking. Every sunrise is a privilege, not a promise. Time doesn’t move; we do. And at this moment there’s the unmistakable sense that the horizon is no longer so distant. My hope is to cherish my past in my heart but keep moving forward. And as the acclaimed poet and philosopher Warren Zevon said, “Enjoy every sandwich.”