No Regrets (Again)

There are few times where I regret having done something but I would rather regret an action than have a regret for having an opportunity to do something and not doing it.

When I learned that several people from my graduating high-school year were getting together, I was initially reluctant to attend. Years ago, I realized that any high-school friend that I wanted to keep in touch with was someone that I already keep in touch with.

My best friend throughout my secondary-school years is still my best friend, today. He was the best man at my wedding: I was the best man at his. We have travelled through Scotland together, in search of Roland Axam's home. We have roamed the streets of New York City, in search for the best cups of coffee.

Some friends that I knew in elementary school and continued our friendship through high school are still friends that I reach out to today, even though we live in separate cities.

It was one of my high-school friends—still one of my good friends—who gave me the heads up about the reunion. When he told me who organized the event, I was interested in seeing her again. I had fond memories of her when we were in school and had run into her from time to time in the years that followed our graduation. We had briefly followed each other on Facebook, but when I culled many people from my list of connections, she was among the many who went.

There were a couple of other names that were mentioned, who I had known through various mutual friendships, but the majority of names from years gone by were either those with whom I couldn't match a face or names of people that I barely knew when we were in the same classes.

I debated whether I would join them, thinking that I would only be doing so out of idle curiosity, but mostly to confirm what I have been telling myself for years: the friends that I want are the friends that I already have.

On the day of the reunion, DW asked me if it was okay for her to stay at home. How could I refuse? I hadn't fully made up my mind to attend, either.

But then I told myself something that I've been telling myself for most of my life: if I went, there was only a slim chance that I would regret going, and that would be a regret that wouldn't last long; if I didn't go, however, I might regret missing out, and that regret could haunt me for years to come, not knowing if I made the right decision.

One pint, I promised myself. I would stay for one pint. I wanted to say hello to the person who organized the reunion. I knew that there would be at least two people there who could put me at ease there: my friend who told me about the reunion and his wife. If, after the pint, I wanted to stay, I would. If my pint was done and there was nothing more for me to say, was no one else to keep me, I could at least say I went.

No regrets.

My friend and his wife wanted to leave before I finished my pint. I threw down the remaining mouthfuls and said my goodbye to the host. While I recognized many people who were acquaintances over the five years of secondary school, there was no one with whom I had memories, whether fond or otherwise.

Our hostess didn't remember the event that was my fondest memory of some time that we shared. One of the teachers from the school was there, and he remembered me, but I had to remind him that I never was one of his students. Our paths crossed a few times, through some of my friends who had him as a teacher and during one school trip. Our chat at the reunion was less than a minute.

So, the high-school reunion is over. I can say that I'm glad that I attended. It confirmed what I knew all along. The friends that I still have are the friends that I want.

Our hostess told me she'd reach out next year, when she plans to hold the next reunion. I smiled, thanked her for organizing this one. Yes, definitely reach out, I lied through my smiling teeth.

I won't attend. And again, I'll have no regrets.