Today I am not at my high school reunion. I will spend the day busy doing things that I love and things that I must. But I will not be celebrating my days at Chambersburg High. I am 90 miles away from the town where I graduated. I could be there. But I will content myself with the passing wish that my high school years had been the kind to inspire nostalgia.
I’ve been thinking all summer about this day and my lack of desire to be there. About nostalgia and memories. High school was hard. Oh, the academics were fine. But the sense of belonging? No. Think of me as the lonely awkward character in the John Hughes movie. The first act. Without the heartwarming montage at the end.
That doesn’t entirely explain away my skipping this reunion. After all, I loved my college years. But I still don’t wax lyrical about the BYU creamery or, well, I can’t think of what I ought to be trying to return to. The last time I set foot on that campus I waited for the rush of emotion. It was sweetly empty.
You know what’s odd? I can feel nostalgia about the place I live now. I go away on vacation and I get hungry to come back. I can walk down the street and feel a fierce yearning for this place and this time. No other. I don’t know what that means about me. The Army brat who finally learned to leave the past behind? No, that’s not really it. But something. I am where I belong. Whether I am what I ought to be, who I ought to be – that is entirely separate.
But where. I am here. Somehow that is sweetly abundant.