Resurrections

Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.

-Arthur Schopenhauer

This year is very joyous for me. So far there have been no surgeries and I have none planned. I look like myself again. Even more importantly, I feel like myself. In fact, I feel better than I did before I got sick. I am training 5 days per week. I am gaining muscle and losing fat. I am very motivated to push myself forward and to stay healthy. And a major part of the joy of this year has been reuniting with lots of special people. Every reunion is a hint of the resurrection.

There’s something special about meeting up with people who knew you before life messed with you.

I am back training with my first ever Personal Trainer. I think we first met in 2005. He pushes me harder than I push myself. I like feeling strong, capable and athletic and he helps me feel that way. He’s also my friend and I love getting to hang out with him weekly.

In April I went to my school reunion. It was nostalgic and nice. I was touched when one of my sister, Natasha’s friends, approached me. It brought home quite starkly for me that had Tash lived she’d be a 46 year old woman now. I loved being able to talk about her with her friend. A resurrection of sorts.

Then last month, I had a wee party (which was fabulous) and I also caught up with a group of old University friends. One day last year I was added to a Scarfie Messenger group — — and somehow, miraculously, lots of us said “yes” to a reunion in Dunedin. People flew in from around New Zealand and Australia. Many of the group I hadn’t seen since I graduated. I hate to confess this, but I graduated from University before we all had mobile phones and the internet. Since University our lives have run off in different directions — travel, marriages, babies, breakups, promotions, relocations, illnesses (that was me), even a cheeky midlife crisis or two — and we are spread out across the world.

We all met in a pub that we think used to be a flat. As soon as we assembled something shifted. There we all were — older, wrinklier, definitely a bit wiser (though not always acting it) — but unmistakably still us.

We laughed so much. Talked about who we used to be, who we thought we’d become, and who we are right now. We remembered the weird stuff — Jill’s tennis racquet, cocktails mixed in buckets, drinking overalls, and pub crawls from South Dunedin when the rugby was on. We had dinner at my old hall, St Margaret’s College. We wandered the streets visiting our old flats.

Reunions remind us that time is elastic — it stretches and sags, but it can also snap right back when you're with people who get you. Not in a "How’s work?" kind of way, but in that “Remember when we thought we were invincible?” kind of way.

And maybe that’s the magic of old friends. They’re a portal to who you were and a gentle reminder that, even if you’ve changed (which you probably have because we all evolve as life shapes us), the essence of you — the real you — is still in there, waiting to be toasted with a slightly overpriced pub beverage and belly laughing as we took turns taking the piss out of each other.

So here’s to old friends. To late catch-ups and belly laughs and the feeling that, somehow, no matter how far we drift, the important stuff stays anchored. Next month my friend, and flat mate from 1992, is visiting from Durham, North Carolina. I think I last saw him 10 years ago. I am so looking forward to seeing him.

If you’re thinking of reaching out to someone from your past — do it. Be brave. Send the message. Because what’s waiting for you will probably be something really lovely (with a hint of the resurrection).