This weekend I was able to reconnect with a group of women I went to college with. I keep in touch with three or four of them regularly. There are a few with whom the connection is made only during the holiday season or when I unexpectedly run into them out and about. There are those that, since our paths just don’t seem to cross, only a planned gathering such as this brings us together.
When it’s time, about every year or two, word ripples out. Each of us keeps in touch with a slightly different combination of those who we all know, and so the natural planners or the keepers of the email list send out an invite along with the request to ‘pass it on’. I love that I’m not quite sure just who will show up. That there are both women I know will be there and those I hope will be. That there are ones I didn't expect to see and have wondered about. That occasionally, unexpected bonds are strengthened; deeper connections forged.
I wonder if any of us could have foreseen regular gatherings like this so many years ago. If there was a passing thought way back when that spending four years in the same space would have us continuing to meet up this many years later. We’re not all the same age and each one of us moved in and out of that time differently. The paths our lives have taken are unique, collectively however, we have a piece of shared history. Something in common. Experiences that anchor.
The evening was warm and vibrant and noisy: Laughter and the inevitable retelling of old tales co-mingled with the significant stuff of thirty-five years of living. There were surprise endings to some of the stories, but nothing new involving the intelligence, grace, humor and strength of each individual. I could have told you that way back when.
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