First published to SFHouseMouse.com on 10/14/2015

I know I look like I’m not a day over 30, but the reality is that this year marks the celebration of 20 years high school free. That’s right, the Folsom Bulldogs class of ’95 just held its 20 year reunion. For months I deliberated over attending. High school was not entirely kind to me, and when I tried my luck at the ten year, I was sorely disappointed. The Man has an uncanny way of knowing what it is that I really want (even when I don’t), and he’s not always properly acknowledged for his gift. He helped to guide me in this situation to what I really wanted and in the end, we went to the event, and felt it all.

During the time that I was forced by law to attend that particular institution, I was not what one would consider popular. Folsom was a small, close-knit community of kids who had mostly all grown up together—I think my graduating class was just over 300—and I was a transplant. The town consisted mainly of meat-and-potatoes natives, and nouveau riche imports. My mother and I were neither. We had emigrated from Oregon (at that point, very un-hip) courtesy of Intel. I was a drama geek who was neither vocally nor physically talented (Folsom had both an award winning Jazz Choir and multiple admired sports teams). To top things off, I transferred from a different district in the middle of my sophomore year. Needless to say, I couldn’t have felt more like an outsider. I was teased for my weight and sense of style, and my particular penchants didn’t improve my lot.

Fast forward twenty years. I have continued to live an unconventional life that is no longer something to be jeered. At this point I’ve done a lot of work to address my “outsider” issues, and I thought it would be fun to see who showed up, and what everyone was up to now…

That lighthearted thought was gently grazing my brain at the beginning of the year. Then, as the event loomed closer, I began to have second thoughts. One night The Man and I were out for dinner when the topic came up. I started showing my signs of resistance, he commenced with teasing me, telling me he saw this as an opportunity for growth. You can imagine how well that went over with me! Our relaxed, candle-light dinner quickly devolved into an emotional tirade resulting in us taking separate cars home and me declaring there was no way in Hell he would get me to go to that damn reunion!

The next day, we went to support a friend (we had made up, and he was giving me space on the subject) as she graduated from her first Landmark Forum, a transformational workshop where folks get insight into the dramas that run their lives. I heard story after story from the recent grads of the tales, similar to my own, that had caused them so much pain and that they now realized they were prostituting to maintain a particular world view. As I sat there listening to these people giving their testimonials, I felt the realization sink in that I might not have had the high school experience I had been thinking. The truth is, yes, I was teased on occasion—I think very few survived that period of life without being teased for one reason or another—and that was painful. But I also had good memories. I had friends back then, and if someone wasn’t my friend that didn’t necessarily mean that they were my enemy.

Anyway, when I got to the venue, I quickly realized only one of my compadres from the past was there, and she had come with me. All of my psychotherapy and self-actualization practice flew out the window, and my teenage emotional self was back in high school again. I found a corner to hide in, a wall to stand against, and was armed with plenty of snarky daggers to defend my tender heart. The women of my graduating class are beautiful, and maintaining themselves very well. They wear the right clothes, and have the right haircuts. And for some reason this is apparently very threatening to me.

The gift of not having any of my old friends at this gathering was that I had no distractions to keep me from recognizing all of these thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. After making a few shitty comments about plastic surgery, I realized I was the one being and asshole. I have always wanted to look be thin, wear the right clothes, and have the right hair. Truth be told, I will likely opt for one or two elective surgeries in the pursuit of vanity in this lifetime, as well. So what’s the big F-ing deal? What I uncovered was that in my younger years, I was unable to have the things I thought I wanted, and be in the group I thought was cool, so I started defending that pain of wanting by proclaiming sour grapes—if I couldn’t join them, I would beat them. I woke up to my desires for material fancies (a trait of all the 8s in my numerology chart), and how I had judged myself for those desires in the guise of being a spiritually advanced (a trait of all my 7s). That night I gave myself space to be hurt, space to want what I want and to be who I really am, and space to see that things might be different than what I had previously thought. Maybe all those people I went to high school with, and who I was ultimately so afraid of, maybe they were just people, too. Maybe they have pains, and fears, and desires of their own, and maybe I was keeping them out of my life by shitting on them from the side lines.

The next morning, I went out to breakfast with a group of awesome people—who I went to high school with—who I had never socialized with before (at least as far as I can remember!), and was pleasantly surprised at how included I felt. We laughed and shared stories with each other as if we were old friends. It felt good to have let the wall down, to have put away my armaments, and to get to know these people newly.

I hate to admit it, but The Man was right—this was an amazing opportunity for growth. I’m glad he braved the waters of my emotion, and guided me where I really wanted to go. ​