I received a newsletter today from the chairperson of the alumni group from my class in college. It was our 50th anniversary of graduation, and the letter was an update on how things went at the reunion weekend back in May.
The pictures of classmates included in the letter put me in a contemplative mood. The group photos had to be of people from ancient classes from the ’40s and ’50s I used to see in editions of past quarterly magazines honoring the 50+-year classes. Except these were classmates of mine, many of whom I never did get to know, but who I would recognize if their names happened to be included in the captions, which they weren’t.
Anyway, this encounter with the great old days of college has me wistfully reminiscing about a period in my life that now seems like it could have unfolded in a dream. It elicits a certain melancholy, but also sincere gratitude for the experience. And it has me both marveling at and somewhat stunned by this inexorable passage of time that occasionally catches us off guard and has us evaluating what we’ve done with all the years.
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