Postcard to the Undecided

Dear Unmet-Yet-Friend,

I sense you'll be there, hovering just outside the entrance, debating with your Self about joining those already inside. I can hear the argument a little:

In this age of social media, why do we even need reunions? I already know more than I want to about what everyone's kids are doing, where they've been on vacation, what they take pictures of before they eat...

Why did I send in money to see people I haven't seen since the last reunion, or since high school itself?

Why did I wait months to begin working out? Why didn't I get my hair cut? Why did I get my hair cut? Why am I still not any taller?!

What if I have to remind people who I am? What if I am just an unnoticeable now as I was then? Worse perhaps, what if everyone has seen that video or that post and thinks... Whatever it is they think?

Is it too late to leave? Have I been spotted? Can I just sneak out again?

Relax, my yet-unmet-friend. Whatever your issues are, we all have our own. Some of us are really just better at hiding them. Some of us are better at deflection or humor-as-a-shield or sarcasm or are rich enough to pay for what we'd like to fix. Rest assured, we are all dealing with something(s).

For example, peek in that door again. See that bald lady you don't recognize? Sure, she didn't graduate with your class- she married in- but she keeps discreetly (she hopes) slipping out a handkerchief from her great-grandmother Frances to wipe her eyes which keep streaming as a side effect of the meds she's on. She brought a head scarf for in case the air conditioning is cranked up but she's hoping she won't need it. She's looking forward to some time with the handful of folks she's met throughout the years, some who have come unbelievable distances to reconnect. She's got her fingers crossed in her pocket that she won't need to use the facilities for an extraordinary length of time and that, if she does, that she won't stink it up too badly thanks to other side effects of those same meds. She's hoping she won't start yawning at 7 as the shindig only started at 6, not because she's bored or rude, but because she's almost done with chemo and tires easily. 

Her name is Val, and she'd love to meet you. Go ahead in. I promise she won't bite, and she might even surprise you into laughter. She knows that most of us have grown up a fair bit since the original tour of nuttiness that is high school, and she'd love to hear where you fit into it all. 

Take that deep breath, get that chin up, slap your name tag on, and walk in. You can do this. Enjoy tonight!

Warm regards,

The Not-Quite-Crying Baldie :)