Something you probably didn’t know about me: This isn’t my only blog.
I’m also over here (note: probably not a blog of interest to anybody reading this, except maybe a couple close friends who stalk me on the internets – seriously, it’s for my high school class, of which I was president). And the following was originally posted there yesterday.
I got something in the mail not too long ago that, while it didn’t hit me at first, really made me think.
Not in a bad way (because thinking? Really isn’t my forte … I kid, I kid), of course. Maybe “think” isn’t the right term.
It made me remember. It made me think back to how things used to be – you know, back when we were in high school.
There are a lot of people who would interject here, saying we’re not that old, we’re still young, etc. And maybe they’d be right.
Or maybe not. It’s been five years since we graduated from high school and a lot can change in five years. A lot HAS changed in five years. I think we can all attest to that.
How many of us can really look back at the past five years and say, “Yup, I knew all of that would happen. I’m exactly where I thought I’d be.” Can any of us, really? I’m willing to say that… if you can, you’re not being totally honest with yourself.
Five years ago, I never would have thought I’d be living in the Columbia Basin with my boyfriend, our two dogs and a cat, working at a newspaper. And yet, here I am. I’m not complaining, I’m just saying – five years can be a lot longer looking back than looking forward.
Anyway, back to that thing I got in the mail: a wedding invitation. I’ve gotten quite a few of those over the past few years, all from classmates. This invitation (congrats to Stephanie and Marshall – and I really hope I spelled his name correctly – by the way!) just made me think about all of us who are married now.
There’s Sherri. There’s Jamie. There’s Yara. There’s Krystal. There’s Kirsten and Dan. (Pages coming for the three of you, and the rest who don’t have their own page, soon. Promise!) There’s Joanna. And I’m probably missing somebody. Or a few somebodies.
(Let’s not even get started on the baby road. We’ll save that for another day.)
And, sure, if you count ’em out… seven doesn’t seem like a whole lot. But in a class of, what were we, 50-something, it kind of is. I’m not saying it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but doesn’t it make you just stop for a second?
I know I did.