I went to a reunion on Saturday night. It was a gathering of people (faculty and students) who had been around when The Chicago School of Psychology was in its formative, small years. I’ve been to other reunions, although not many.  My family had a reunion years ago and there was some unpleasant tension between a few selected relatives. My high had several and I attended one, happy to see people, curious, and ready to leave after about 2 hours. 

 My reactions to these events seem to be the same each time – I am filled with nostalgia when I hear about the plan. I look forward to it. I immediately flash to the people I hope to see.  Then, I think about what I will wear. Then I go back to wondering what all these people have been doing during the quiet years (not my family – I have a pretty good idea what everyone is up to). I make up stories about people’s trajectories.

 Then reality sets in. I go and I am happy to see people, hear their stories for about 2 hours and then beat it back to my regular life.  Reunions seem to me to serve the same purpose as running into an old love – they provide a dose of reality – you remember clearly what worked and what didn’t, and, if you are lucky, you know why you are now living this life.

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