More Than a Reunion

Reflections on contentment and adventure at this stage of life

Reunions work a special magic. In the company of old friends who knew you at your most vulnerable formative phases, you see yourself as you were then compared to how you are now and reflect on choices and circumstances that shaped life’s path. You revisit specific spots that trigger emotions from key moments that happened there decades ago. You feel both young and old. You let down your guard because old friends know the real you. You feel the absence of your elders and favorite teachers who no longer can make it back. You realize you’re now the elder as you study the younger generations, and they look to you for wisdom. You’re truly, finally all grown up.

That all happened for me last week as I pushed pause on regular life to go back to Ojai, in Southern California, for my 40th high school reunion with the class of 1986. For me, it’s more than a high school reunion because I grew up there, on the campus of Thacher School, as a faculty kid and met my future husband there. My grandpa taught there for three decades, my dad was a student there and later worked there, my kids went there too, and I served on the board for nearly a decade in my forties. It connects our generations and holds my origin story.

For us, it became a family reunion too as my daughter celebrated her 10th reunion and her engagement party, and my son—who now works at the school—was on the job there, so I got to witness him in his role as a leader and guide. My big brother also showed up for his 50th reunion.

It’s fitting our hotel was called Su Nido (Spanish for “your nest”). The town, Ojai, traces its name back to the Native Chumash word for “nest,” and the oval-shaped east-west valley ringed by coastal mountains forms a giant amphitheater-like nest. Of course, I thought about how I had left the nest, and my kids had too, and now I am an “empty-nester.”

But I had no sense of loss or pangs of sadness about my kids’ independence and time’s passage, except when missing my dad, who was in the class of ‘51 and hence would’ve been there for his 75th reunion if he were still alive at 92. Instead, I felt fulfillment and ease, as if cradled in that nest, as if I’m finally settled.

If we’re lucky, we arrive at a certain mellowness in the later phase of midlife—once we’re past our kids’ pivotal adolescent and college years, past the pain and goodbyes involved with caregiving our aging parents, past the need to prove ourselves professionally, past the worry about financial stability—and we can exhale and think, “My job here is done,” and soak in the present. That’s how I felt. More than nostalgic, content.

We gathered on the first morning at the stables, the place I spent almost every early morning and after-school afternoon of my youth and practiced a homegrown form of equine therapy to cope with family conflict and peer pressures. The school has a horse program that has been its defining characteristic since its founding in 1889, and now my son is a key person in that program as a riding instructor and farrier.

Me with my daughter, husband, and son.

The heady fragrance of horse manure, dust, and chaparral—the perfume of my youth—put me at ease, as did the sounds of horse hooves and the feel of every second-nature interaction with a horse. My daughter beamed as her fiancé—our new family member—held the reins and settled in his saddle with confidence, as if he had passed our family’s litmus test for acceptance. My son, on a palomino, guided us up a trail where I looked to one side to remember the night of October 5, 1984, when my husband and I had snuck off there to a clearing to look at the starlit nighttime valley and shared a first kiss. All that effort that we put in our relationship to get through low points and stay together as a couple had been worth it.

Looking at my son, whose 25th birthday we just celebrated, I thought how objectively strange yet in my mind reasonable it is that this reunion even shaped his birthday. Back in 2001, I had yearned to attend my 15th reunion in early June. I had felt intensely pulled to return to this place not only to see my classmates, but also my siblings and parents who would be there. I had just turned 32, was nine months pregnant and ready to pop, and feeling anxious about the transition to parenting two kids and figuring out whether and how I’d restart a shelved career. My homing instinct went into overdrive. I needed the getaway to Ojai to feel grounded and supported—I needed to return to the nest.

So, figuring I could handle a road trip with a toddler and newborn if I had at least a week to recover, I had our son induced on May 31 (a day past his due date). Then our foursome drove from our Bay Area home back to Ojai so we could attend reunion that year. Instead of being exhausted by postpartum travel, I felt energized.

Twenty five years ago, at the 2001 reunion, with my eight-day-old son and good friends.

Me with those same friends last weekend. The two on the ends have known me since preschool.

The weekend reminded me that relationships form the foundation of happiness, and our schools and communities shape our character. In my teens, I rebelled strongly against the school and yearned to escape the small town. I spread my wings, intentionally distanced myself from my parents, and became a runner in part to run from my past. Then I circled back and was welcomed back. I try to honor the teachers, horses, and friends who gave me so much by giving back to the school as a dedicated alumna. I’m so fortunate to have a place—this nest—to call home.

Adventure in midlife and beyond

On Saturday, I was asked to participate on an alumni speaker panel about “adventure in midlife and beyond,” to talk to peers and younger alumni about how to stay active in the outdoors. In addition to the horse program, the school prioritizes outdoor education and organizes camping trips for students and faculty a couple of times a year. They wanted us to share how our upbringing at the school contributed to being outdoorsy and adventurous later in life.

I’m sharing some excerpts, especially from my childhood playmate and lifelong friend Carolyn (pictured in the video on my left) who was on the panel. She and her husband (also one of our classmates) just finished bike-packing for weeks across Morocco, having also bike-packed across Canada. When we were asked what adventure means to us, she said, “For me, adventure is being on the steepest part of the learning curve, and that’s my favorite place to be, whether it’s learning about a new culture or a new way to interact.”

I shared my view that adventure involves seizing opportunities to do new things even though you can’t plan for everything and can’t be certain of the outcome. We all talked about the satisfaction of getting to remote places self-powered.

Asked how our generation and upbringing had shaped our sense of adventure, Carolyn and I reflected on our youth, when we ran wild and unsupervised on the campus. I don’t think we ever played inside with dolls, because we always were outside, either in her tree house reading or on a ropes course literally hanging out and daring ourselves. In addition to riding horses, we rode big-wheels without helmets down a perilous steep road. Unlike kids today, Carolyn said, “we were unsupervised and un-entertained. We had to entertain ourselves and figure out our own limits.”

When Carolyn and I were little, itching to change out of those special Christmas dresses to play hide-and-seek or make mud pies.

I added, “We grew up so playful as faculty kids and then as students. We’d just play and explore. When I became a student, I became an ultra-wanderer and would wander at night, sometimes well beyond campus. That kind of adolescent rebelliousness and desire to explore feeds in to what I do now as an ultrarunner.”

When asked why we approach senior years as a time to be active and adventurous, I answered, “Well, it beats the alternative. As we age, we become creatures of habit and routine, so however you are becomes self-perpetuating. For me, I do it because it enriches our lives and keeps me feeling young, and also, I like being a mentor in my sport. I remember being in my thirties and forties and looking up to women in their fifties, and now I want to provide that role modeling for younger women who want to do mountain running.”

We were asked, what would you say to someone who feels like adventure is something they used to do rather than something they still do?

“I would say, start small,” I said. “Do anything that feels challenging, whether it’s going on a one-mile hike or starting a new project. Sometimes an adventure can be volunteering for something. Just put yourself out there.”

Carolyn added, “Start small but also be audacious. If there’s something you want to do, don’t sell yourself short. If you get something big in your head, think, ‘maybe I can do this.’”

I shared some photos from the long weekend on my Instagram, if you’d like to see. Also, if you get to visit and run around Ojai, I encourage you to read my piece in the new UltraRunning about Ojai trails, which is an homage to hometown trails as well as a guide on where to run there. Gift link here.

Congrats

I know of three subscribers who finished ultras this weekend. Bridget Wilson aka Blue finished her first-ever ultra, the Dam Yeti 55K in Virginia. Erica Moore finished the 50-mile division of that race and wrote an excellent race report about what makes the Yeti events special and truly inclusive. And Suzanna Bon nailed the Scout Mountain 100 (a Hardrock qualifier) in a strong time, placing 11th, and became the first over-60 woman ever to finish Scout Mountain 100.

Who am I missing? Share the news in the comments of a race you ran this past weekend! And I’d love to hear if this post triggered any thoughts on growing up and going back to reunions.