A Decade Later
My experience at my ten-year high school reunion
Plans Change
I was supposed to fly to Tanzania the day after Thanksgiving to climb Mount Kilimanjaro with five buddies. That unfortunately didn’t happen. After I found out about my stress fracture in my pubic ramus in early October, I canceled and got refunded for whatever I could for my African adventure. Because I competed in the Ironman World Championship in Kona on October 26, I backed out of Kili to finally allow my body to heal.
While I didn’t travel to Tanzania to summit the highest peak in Africa, I flew back to Pennsylvania to celebrate Turkey Day with my parents and extended family. Since I no longer had the climbing expedition on my calendar, I figured I’d make the best use of my time on the East Coast by being social.
High School Memories
Months ago, the president of my high school class, asked us 2014 Conestoga High School graduates to RSVP to the upcoming ten-year reunion. Excited to embark upon a once-in-a-lifetime trip, I mentioned I wouldn’t be able to make it. Instead, I planned to watch the sunrise from the roof of Africa and go on safari. I was almost proud to miss the get-together for such an epic reason. However, injuries happen and plans change. I was now being encouraged (peer pressured) to go to the reunion with my tail between my legs.
When I reflect back on high school, I’m filled with unease. Somatically, I feel knots in my stomach, similar to the nausea and anxiety I felt driving up Cassatt Road on the way to school every morning for four years. I loathed most of my time at Conestoga. It was only until I made the varsity baseball team junior year that I felt I somewhat belonged, but even then, it was a tough time.
Being pushed into lockers and given dead legs by my older brother’s buddies. Not knowing which lunch table to sit at. Forgetting your locker combination, copying someone’s homework, being late for class, and getting detention. Feeling incompetent and judged by your Ivy League-bound peers who are the presidents of clubs, captains of sports teams, and children of affluent assholes. Aimlessly existing as a pimply pubescent, embarrassed to admit you are on Accutane, haven’t yet lost your virginity, or got rejected by your dream school. Sheesh, being a teenager is hard.
Walking into the Past
Despite those vivid memories, I decided to show up to the five-year reunion in 2019, just a few months after I was hit by a car riding my bike and only days after knee surgery. I felt self-conscious showing up on crutches, but to my surprise, it made for an even better arrival and story to tell. I spent the night sipping on Patrón and Bulleit on rocks, romanticizing with old friends, and chatting with people I wasn’t close with in high school. While one mean girl called me out for unfollowing her on social media since we graduated in 2014, all of my other conversations were pleasant. As a result, I had been looking forward to the ten-year, even though I had my reservations.
Due to my pelvic injury, I guessed I’d be showing up to the ten-year on crutches too, but that fortunately wasn’t the case. Crutches or not, how can you not be unsettled about awkwardly walking into a room of people you haven’t seen in years? I’m no longer close with most of the guys I went to high school with. While there were other ‘Stoga grads who went to Penn State, I wanted to chart my own course. I took this to another level when I moved to Colorado in 2022. Because I live on the other side of the country, I don’t see them often; however, even when I was Pennsylvania-based, our hobbies and interests took us in different directions, and that’s okay. When I see them though, even if it’s every five years at the next high school reunion, it’s enjoyable. While so much has changed, not much has changed. The locker-room talk, the inside jokes, the gossip, the cliques—that’s all still there.
I walked in solo and sober with a bottle of Pellegrino, but without expectations. I was gladly greeted by guys I used to play ball with, stunned to see me. I made my rounds, engaging in conversation with as many people as I could. Some of the conversations were meaningful. Most were superficial. Where do you begin a conversation with a person you saw every day that you’ve not seen in five or maybe ten years? With someone you once knew that has become a stranger again?
The Paradox of Digital Connections
The evolution isn’t just about the years apart; it’s also shaped by the presence of social media. I remember getting Facebook when it first came out in the mid-2000s. My family had just moved to the United Arab Emirates and it allowed me to stay in touch with my friends from the States. As my Dubai buddy Rob has shared, we used to rack up friend connections like it was currency and make impulsive decisions on the site that would be talked about in the school hallways the next day. It was thrilling for a while, then curdled, and has now settled into being a picture book for chronicling life’s big events.
It used to be that people who passed through your life would fade into memories; however, in the Internet Age, they persist as living reminders of relationships that once thrived but have since withered into footnotes, courtesy of Father Time. Having this record and the ability to keep tabs on people you’ve known is a luxury, but that novelty weighs on the human psyche. Maybe we’ve stayed connected on the apps, but if I called you out of the blue for the purpose of catching up, you’d be baffled. We know each other, but we no longer “know each other”, you know? It’s parasocial.
This new era of technology keeps us tethered as our lives drift further apart. There’s a whiplash when you see the wedding update of someone you haven’t physically seen since 2014. Happy for you, but part of me wishes I was there. On the other hand, that’d be totally weird, right? We’re more “connected” than ever before, yet we feel more isolated and lonely. We overlook the personal touch that true engagement requires. Our devices should enhance, not replace, our connections.
Moments that Matter
The obligatory “how ya been?” opens up a can of worms and leads to a Larry David stop-and-chat. You see each other, feel compelled to say hi and catch up due to shared history, even though neither of you really want to.
You want to appear friendly, but also need to protect your limited time at such an event, conserving your energy for the interactions you actually want to engage in—like with the class clown who used to show brain in Honors Bio, your buddy who always got in trouble for dipping tobacco and occasionally stabbing you with a pencil, your relief pitcher with whom you’d recite lines from Drake and Josh, your 8th period Spanish partner with whom you made “brownies especiales” and now wants to converse about all things health and wellness, your first girlfriend, the guy who’s “made it” and whom you want to pitch a business idea to, your middle infielder you shared bags of Trader Joe’s cashews with while playing Modern Warfare 2 until dawn, and the fringe friend you locked eyes with across the room but haven’t been able to pin down all night.
No one really gives a shit—if you’ve gained weight, if you still live at home with your parents, about what you do for work or how much money you make. No one pays as much attention to the stuff you stress about as you do. While that may be the case, you also never know who’s watching and impacted by your journey. A musician told me I inspired him to do his first half marathon and wants help training for his first full. A project manager mentioned I motivated him to start a Substack. A Forbes 30 Under 30 founder told me he loves my energy and to “keep changing the world.” A finance bro stated that I’m an interesting man and had the most conversations on the night. A public-facing producer in the sports industry commended my courage for putting myself out there online. An old neighbor who’s now crushing husband and dad life wanted to hear all about my adventures out west.
Lessons and Looking Ahead
I appreciate the praise, encouragement, and interest. While I don’t need the external validation, or want to believe I don’t need it, it gives me more proof that I’m on the right path for me. I’m proud of my growth and the life I’ve chosen to build for myself. People are drawn to passionate people. People like seeing people they know flourish. It gives them hope that they can too. Be the light and give others permission.
While there was still some one-upmanship, most of the high school egos are now deflated. The baseball team tension, the girl drama—it’s all bullshit. It was sad to see some still carrying weight and guilt from events that occurred when we were 16. I’m far from perfect, so I’ve learned to apologize, but also to forgive. In that process, I’ve realized forgiveness is for you. Let go and move on for your benefit.
So many classmates came up to me and asked about “Miss Kitty.” My mom had the privilege of staying home so was always at sports games, bake sales, PTO meetings, field trips, you name it. As a result, all of my friends got the opportunity to know her (or get interrogated by her). My mom always took a genuine interest in others. She still does. If there was a party at the Holz house, which there often was, you had to survive Kitty’s barrage of questions. “Is it still love or just a habit?” and other very personal and meaningful inquiries.
After the reunion, I returned to my parents’ home and was peppered with questions about certain people from high school. My mom, unable to comprehend how I can spend hours with someone and not know about certain aspects of their life, laughed and wondered why men communicate the way they do. It’s encouraging me to ask the deep questions others are hesitant to ask. It’s pushing me to be more proactive in my relationships. Comment on their Instagram post. Congratulate them on their new job on LinkedIn. Heck, call them out of the blue for the purpose of catching up. Celebrate their success. If you root for everyone, you can never lose.
Conestoga Class of 2014, see you at the twenty-year in 2034.
