You Won't See Me
Why I'm not attending my 30-year high school reunion.
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My 30-year high school reunion is next month, and there’s no getting around it: My teenage years were a long time ago. How long? Put it this way, my fellow Pitt fans (who else is still reeling from yesterday’s finale?): In 1995 — the year I graduated — John Carter was still a medical student at County General. Meaning, Noah Wyle hadn’t even earned his first fake medical degree yet.
Over the past several days, I debated attending my reunion. But if I were truly being honest with myself, I didn’t want to go so much as be a proverbial fly on the wall: My ideal scenario would be to sit in a corner, sipping a cocktail, listening and observing -- without actually talking to anyone. That insipid plan, coupled with my husband reminding me of my disastrous reunion track record (more on that soon), made me realize that attending this event would be what he called a "low-percentage play"— a sports reference, because, dudes. While there are a couple of people I'm sure I'd have a good time reconnecting with, the cons ultimately outweighed the pros in this case.
I had an awful time in high school. Full stop.
I spent my teenage years either ignored or bullied, and while I wasn't a perfect angel either, I’m hard-pressed to pull up more than a few happy memories of that period. I remember having a good time at my prom, and I loved seeing R.E.M. on their Monster tour at Madison Square Garden that same month (June 1995), but that wasn’t because I had great high school friends. The people by my side for both the prom and the R.E.M. show attended different schools.
It wasn't until I started college that I finally learned what it meant to have kind friends.
Yes, I've had a lot of therapy in the 30 years since graduating, which has allowed me to process these painful memories. On top of that, I've had a shit ton of life experiences -- and the blessing/curse of becoming preternaturally self-aware.
A few days ago, one of my old classmates texted me to ask if I was attending the reunion. She and I reconnected a few years ago because we’re both moms of neurodivergent children. I told her no, and, naturally, she was curious as to why. The last thing I wanted was to trauma dump on her, so guess what, gentle readers — I’m gonna trauma dump on you instead!
In all seriousness, my reasons are worth discussing because I’m sure many of you have also experienced inner conflict over impending reunions. For me, asking if I’m going to attend a reunion is a loaded question with a loaded answer, so buckle up, Substack! Besides, that former classmate deserves an explanation that doesn’t clog up her Messages app — and so do the handful of other former classmates who subscribe to this Substack and might be curious too.
To those of you reading who know me from high school: I am thrilled we’ve reconnected through Substack and social media. I’m open to an IRL meetup either individually or in a smaller group setting.
Anyway, here's why I'm not going to my high school reunion:
1. I have a terrible reunion track record
I attended my 15-year high school reunion in 2010, and a sleepaway camp reunion a few years earlier. I didn't have a good time at either one. You know the old saying, “You can’t go home again”? Well, in my case, it’s “Why the hell would you want to go back to a situation where you were miserable in the first place?”
(For more on why sleepaway camp wasn’t so swell, check out this essay I wrote for Kveller last year.)
People may change and mature, but do I really want to see the guy who punched me in the eye again? No, I don’t. He supposedly was trying to make me flinch, but his fist ended up connecting with my eye, and everyone thought it was SO funny that it was listed in my senior yearbook in the "Remember when?" section. As in, "Remember when Brett punched Sarene?"
How could I ever forget?
2. I have social anxiety
I’ve always been uncomfortable at big family events. And parties. And any social situation where I had to mingle and/or engage in small talk. I even had a mini anxiety attack at my cousin’s 300-plus attendee wedding — during the hora, mind you.
Couple this level of unease with being dropped into an event populated by a) former bullies, b) apathetic bystanders, and c) people I barely knew in the first place.
Once I understood that I had social anxiety, I stopped attending major family gatherings and most parties, and it felt amazing. For years I was told to suck it up and deal (“Just say hi to people! Smile!”). But what’s the point if I’m not enjoying myself?
I'm not comfortable in a social setting unless I have a couple of "wing people" to talk to the entire time, and I understand that’s a huge burden to put on anyone. I've put my husband in that position far too many times to count, and since he barely knows anyone I went to high school with anyway, it’s unfair to drag him along.
3. I’m not in the mood for ex-friend drama
I don’t have the bandwidth for more awkwardness with a high school classmate I fell out with about 15 years ago. The two of us already have to pretend we don't notice each other during the summer, because our kids attend the same camp. And, no, I'm not interested in reconciliation. We were both young and stupid at the time of our falling out, but we also have nothing in common. (I wrote about what happened with us more in-depth here. TL;DR: I made a faux pas, and she blocked me.)
4. Everything is political, whether you like it or not
Even though I grew up in an affluent, liberal New York suburb, chances are, this reunion will include some MAGA/Trump voters. This would inevitably make me a killjoy, because I’d insist on asking how every single attendee voted. Because, no, I can’t “put aside my political differences for one night.”
(Neither can a Chicago-based bride I crossed paths with on Threads the other day; I applaud her decision to exclude all Trump voters from her wedding.)
To be clear, anyone who voted for the current administration can go straight to hell.
Another reason I’m not keen on reliving my teenage years is that I don’t appreciate how Americans across the country have decided to treat our government like high school. We elected the big man on campus with lots of big promises lies instead of the brainy female. Pretty damn sad, if you ask me, and not worth celebrating.
Lastly, one of the reunion organizers is an anti-vaxxer, and the very idea of being in the same room as her makes me sick. I blocked this person several years ago after she started exhibiting vaccine skepticism. (She was questioning the current pediatric vaccine schedule, which is a slippery slope.)
Maybe someone at the reunion will have the good sense to show her Dr. Robby’s incendiary speech from last week’s episode of The Pitt:
So, considering I don’t have too many happy memories of high school, it doesn’t make much sense to return to the scene of the crime.
No one wanted to be my friend, and certainly no one wanted to date me. Any “romantic” (I’m using that word super-generously) experiences I had during those years were with guys who didn't attend my high school. Two of them didn’t even live in this country!
My senior prom date was a random dude from Staten Island I met, of all places, at the now-defunct Concord Hotel in the Catskills (comment below if you want another post telling that story; you might want to hear it if you’re a Marvelous Mrs. Maisel or Dirty Dancing fan):
I know that Hollywood helped make high school reunions fairy-tale-esque with films like Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion. But, unlike in the movies, my friend Elaine Hendrix isn’t going to suddenly swoop in to put the mean girls in their place like she did for Romy and Michele:
Love you, Elaine!
Here’s the thing, though: I don’t need Elaine/Lisa Luder to stick up for me. Because while I had no clue who I was in high school, I sure do now.
Teenage Sarene had zero self-esteem. I wasted so much precious time trying (and failing) to get people to like and accept me. My biggest regret is how I spent very little of that time and energy developing my character, self-confidence, and interests.
I loved musical theater, and I adored singing Broadway tunes. But even those are bittersweet memories: Family members told me throughout my childhood and teenage years that I was a good singer, yet I was never good enough for the high school drama director who played favorites. (BTW, as we saw in Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, mean girls don’t disappear after graduation. They just grow up to be nasty theater directors, PTA moms, Christian mommy vloggers, MLMers, and Girl Scout troop leaders.)
Not once was I cast in a role in our school musicals; I was always relegated to the chorus. Was I a future Ariana Grande? Hell, no -- which is why I devoted my life to writing about pop culture icons, rather than to becoming one. But I know I was a better singer/actress than about a third of the kids cast in leading roles. Fortunately, things improved once I got to college, and I auditioned for more objective directors.
But it took me a long time to discover myself, and I certainly didn't know who that person was during my teenage years. I didn't even know I was a writer until I arrived at Brandeis University! One thing I did know all those years ago was that I loved pop culture, music, Broadway shows, movies, and TV, which made entertainment journalism a natural professional choice.
I'm also a helluva lot more outspoken now than I was 30 years ago. But that’s a relatively recent development courtesy of the past 15 years: I was emotionally abused at my dream job by a Trump-ish narcissist, I struggled with infertility before finally becoming a mother at age 39 (to a neurodivergent child), I entered my 40s, and I was forced to live through two Trump presidencies. Trust me, as a baby Gen-Xer, this is a major 180-degree turn. I was raised to comply, not make waves, and do what I was told so I could be successful at life (read: become a wife, a mother, and climb the professional ladder).
As someone who is out of fucks to give, I can’t just walk into a high school reunion and be expected to smile and exchange pleasantries with people who once made my life miserable.
So I’m going to do everyone, including myself, a favor and stay home.
The truth is, I’m not attending my high school reunion for a simple reason:
Because I don't want to.
What are your thoughts on reunions? Specifically, high school reunions. Let me know in the comments!
Cheers to this Spotify playlist for helping me get into a 1995 mindset this week. My girl Alanis Morissette would be proud.
And, of course, here’s the Beatles track that inspired today’s title:
To all those celebrating this weekend, Happy Passover/Chag Pesach Sameach.
As always, thank you for reading,
—Sarene
I'm right there with you, although junior high was 1000x worse.
Sarene, I swear I'm not stalking you but what? you grew up in Chappaqua? I grew up in Scarsdale! So funny.