Deep and Sad Thoughts on Milestones, Identity, and Belonging….

Fifty years have passed since I walked through the halls of my high school, Griffin High School, good old GHS, surrounded by faces that were once so familiar, so foundational to my early experiences of the world. This year marks the milestone of my 50th graduation anniversary—a time many would expect me to embrace with joy, nostalgia, and even pride. Yet here I am, struggling with a profound sense of disconnect, questioning not only my relationship to my past but also my place in the present.

Anniversaries often carry an unspoken expectation of celebration. They are supposed to be moments when we reconnect, reminisce, and reaffirm ties that have, for better or worse, shaped who we are. For some, these reunions are affirming—a chance to see old friends and bask in shared memories. For me, however, the thought of returning to that circle evokes not excitement but extreme unease.

I find myself rambling, drifting between reflections on the people I grew up with and the reality I now inhabit. The gulf between who we were and who we’ve become seems wider with each passing year. There are those who, in my view, have adopted beliefs and attitudes that are at odds with the values I hold dear. The realization that individuals I once considered peers are complicit, even enthusiastic, in what I perceive as the destruction of the ideals I cherish is surreal. It leaves me feeling untethered, unable to get a handle on the situation, adrift in a reality that feels increasingly alien.

Never would I have imagined that I would not want to attend my own high school reunion. This absence of desire is not born of indifference, but rather of a deeper disappointment, a recognition that the sense of belonging I once felt is now eclipsed by irreconcilable differences. I got a divorce for that reason, irreconcilable differences… This is so much more defeating and sadder. The people who once formed my community now embody values and politics I cannot abide. The prospect of sitting among them, of pretending to be friends, feels impossible. It is impossible and so very sad.

Milestones are meant to be celebrated. They are markers of survival, endurance, and growth. Yet, for some, the passage of time brings not joy but a confrontation with uncomfortable truths. My 50th high school graduation anniversary is not merely a date on the calendar, but a lens through which I examine my relationships, my identity, and my convictions. It forces me to acknowledge how my reality, and that of those around me, has diverged, and to ask whether connection is still possible, or even desirable.

I will not be attending the reunion. That decision comes with its own kind of grief, and with relief as well. Instead of celebrating with others, perhaps I will mark the occasion privately, reflecting on my journey and the person I have become. Sometimes, honoring oneself means stepping away from traditions that no longer fit, and trusting that authenticity is its own milestone—one worth celebrating, even if only in solitude. The Class of 1976 will celebrate without me… But I will cherish my memories.