Happy 60th Birthday Party Reunion
He poured the vodka to the top of the 12-ounce cup. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, “I’ll be on the floor!” “I want you drunk,” he answered. I gazed away. Shit, some things never change.
This was a 60th birthday party and high school reunion. I traveled from RI to my home town, a suburb of NYC, in order to attend. I contemplated- how many of these will we have left? Not to be morbid, my friends, just a dosage of truth. And off I went.
I picked my sister up in CT on the way down. Lisa and I are twins. Fraternal twins. Just for a snap shot, to describe a life time- Lisa likes bars, I like coffee shops. My mother preferred coffee shops. Need I say more?
On Sunday afternoon- after all the festivities were written in the history book- in the car ride home, with Steely Dan in the background, Sister shared that my attendance at the Reunion was a trigger for her; “It’s in our DNA, sis;” she lamented. “We’ve had years of being compared. You always won. I think it happened again,” she reported, with eyes averted in a hushed voice.
My heart broke just a little, right then. The last thing I wanted was to live that painful pattern, once again.
Yet showing up for my reunion was important. She wanted me there. Sister told me that and I believed her.
Pain and pleasure. Dancing and Doubt. I never wanted to hurt her. We survived the pain that night. I believe we always will.
I knew what she meant, though. I still feel the experience of that party- my light step, face creased in a perpetual smile and simultaneously wondering. Was she okay?
Anyway, and I'm sure you can relate to this, I intended to show up to this 60th bday party reunion, as my best self. For those unfamiliar, that meant dialing down the ego, wearing my worthiness like a peacock does her feathers, feeling rested and nourished, wearing my grays and wrinkles, and all this with a vengeance. And of course, in clothes that matched this mission. Sexy. Confident. Happy.
In the backdrop was my anticipation of seeing my ex. He and I had a 6- year, solid run.
Was it my ego, the very thing I wanted to dial down, that cared what he thought?
Was there a person at this reunion that did not want to ‘seem’ good, look good? I think not. I felt blessed that I felt well enough to celebrate 60 as if I was good… good enough.
I danced the night away. I never did finish that tall pour of vodka, because I’m blessed with a turn off valve, not like the guy who poured it, sadly.
I connected with people that weren’t my friends back then, but would be today, if I lived nearby. I guess my ex falls in that category too, but on second consideration, ex’s fall in a category of their own. Because respect-we each have lives that are, well I’ll speak for my own, full and loving.
Eight years after my ex and I broke up I married my husband, a guy who challenged me in ways (and I him) that has, from time to time, made our marriage complicated. His wounds and my wounds have been combustible.
Exhibit A: When I arrived home from the reunion, feeling delighted, full and rich and grateful to come home to my husband- we argued. I wonder if it wasn’t inevitable. Could he have possibly met my needs after that weekend? What was I expecting?
This is what transpired: my husband walked away in the middle of me showing him a dance video of the reunion. (I know eye roll, right?)
In that moment, his back to me, stung. Of course he couldn't have known that I would be making my grand entrance in the video, just as he turned his back.
I was disappointed in him and he was disappointed in my disappointment. His vulnerability rubbing up against mine, exacerbated by my joyfulness of the sweet reunion. My mind, for a brief moment, fantasized: would my ex have been easier? Don’t tell anyone. That’s one of these private thoughts you shut down as quickly as it arises.
I used my skills (I’m a therapist and I have to practice what I teach) and faced the fire. First I validated how I thought my husband must have felt when I expressed my disappointment in him. And I invited him to try and feel what it might have felt like for me as well. In other words, we practiced empathy.
It worked, my friends! Love won and I was grateful.
I feel like my past has arrived at the doorstep of my present in grace. It does not have many messages for me, like it used to. Now it is a story that makes sense. In all its pain and all its pleasure.
My ex still makes me smile. He’s a good guy with a singular disposition. We’re friends, at reunions and in spirit, for life.
My husband and I continue to grow, to challenge each other and be gentle in the places that still ouch. And practice love first.
My intention is to show up as my best self at our 70th birthday party high school reunion. And every day, in between, because showing up well at reunions, means showing up well today.
