From seventh grade on, I grew up in a small town in Southeastern Ohio called Athens. I could dazzle you with my fifth grade state report knowledge and talk about how Ohio is the 17th state of the union, the first of five in what was known as the Northwest Territories at the time. Athens is so-named because it has a university built on a hill and founded in 1804—Ohio University.
My dad got a job at the medical school there as a means of affording higher education for his children. It was scary to move somewhere new, leave old friends and familiar spaces, family, community and create something new. Athens has a way, though. It’s special. It embeds in your heart—the space, the people, the humid air. I was fortunate to make life-connections in this town. I am lucky I got to spend time with them these past few days.
While I didn’t know everyone at my 30th reunion, there were folks I didn’t have classes with or who moved in different circles, there were those I’ve treasured since I was a kid and others I’ve grown to love more and more as an adult. My heart is full and I am reminded that we all carry our own pain. Some of my classmates lost parents when they were young. Others, like me, in their 30s and 40s. Some are facing very recent loss or the prospect of aging parents needing more help with chores and care, whose health and momentum are slowing down pointing to heartbreaking inevitabilities. We all are walking this human experience with love, joy, loss, fear, and heartache.
I wish I had understood that better as a teenager. I hurt from loss and heartache then, was anxious and insecure—and I erroneously thought I was the only one, blinded by my own circumstances, desperate to be seen and loved while simultaneously hiding, afraid of being really seen at all. Life, given half the chance, helps remove the blinders, reorients the placement of self, and showcases that not only are we not alone in experiencing the fullness of humanity, it is our ability to share it (both the joy and the burden) that makes it wondrous and bearable. The things that carried me then, that carry me now are kindness and humor, antidotes to poison and ego. I appreciate the sharp wit, the clever word-play, the bright sparkling minds of my peers. That coupled with big hearts for others, for the world and the simplest small gestures of kindness to others, to me make them a marvel.
I wish I had more time to see more people to tell them all thank you. I love you. You matter. You made and make life better. I’m sorry I couldn’t squeeze it all in. Thank you to everyone who made this so special. I sit at the Columbus airport with a very full heart.
Feryl Files 