Twenty Years Later: A Quiet Reflection on My Class Reunion
June 12th 2025 marked twenty years since I graduated high school. Twenty years. And yesterday was my class reunion.
I didn’t know what to expect going into my class reunion. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go. I had questions — Who would be there? Would anyone remember me? Would it feel meaningful or just… awkward? But I went. Not for long — an hour or so, maybe a little more — but I showed up.
What I walked into was a room full of familiar faces. Faces I once saw every day, tied to names and voices from another lifetime. People I’d grown up with, shared classrooms and teenage years with. I recognized them instantly.
But when their eyes met mine, there was… nothing.
No greetings. No warm recollections. No “Oh my god, how have you been?” Just a glance — like the kind you give to someone walking past you on the sidewalk. A flicker of eye contact and then gone. It was a strange thing, realizing I had become invisible in a room full of people who used to be part of my everyday world.
So I sat with my one constant — the friend who’s still in my life almost daily, the one who never let our connection fade over the years. I had a few drinks, we shared some food, and we conversed like we normally do on any given day. After a while, we got up and walked out of the venue. No goodbyes. No final hugs or promises to keep in touch. Just… out. As if we’d never been there at all.
But the night wasn’t over.
Instead of going home, we went somewhere familiar, most of all to me — a place that didn’t require name tags or conversations about who we’ve become. We picked up our cameras and found ourselves in the rhythm of shooting — light, shadow, texture, silence. In that space, I felt recognized. Not by people, but by purpose. I was doing something I love, in a space where I’ve spent countless hours becoming who I am today.
And somewhere between the shutter clicks, it hit me: This is what people mean when they say, “life moves on.”
I’m not sad. I’m not angry. If anything, I feel a strange relief. I no longer have to wrestle with the question of whether or not I should go to the next reunion. The answer is already clear.
Because in the end, I’ve found the people who still see me, the places that still welcome me, and the passions that remind me who I really am.
And that’s more than enough.
