Somewhere between the familiar adages of “there’s nothing constant in life except change” and “death is the great equalizer” lies the mysterious middle life minefield known as the high school reunion. For a certain slice of us born during the Vietnam years, experiencing puberty as the Iran hostage crisis unfolded, and truly coming of age with Ronald Reagan sitting on the throne of American politics and Madonna reigning as the queen of pop culture, this year happens to mark our 30th.

Perhaps it’s the realization that we’re at a critical mountain of a milestone, caught firmly between youth and old age (or 18 and 78, for those who don’t want to do the math) that makes this particular coming-together more painful, poignant, and yet joyful than the reunions past.

As we drive through our hometown – whether from points far away or just down the street, we do so with a heightened sense of vision that only a reunion can bring. We notice things others might not. A subtle change here, a less recent but more monumental alteration there. Things kids born in the last 20 years would know nothing about. And yet. And yet, so much of it still so familiar that, if we close our eyes, we can transport ourselves back to the days of homecoming parades, report cards, and short-lived backseat romances.

As we gather for the event that called us back together, it becomes evident which of us would prefer to keep our eyes tightly shut, savoring the past, and which of us favor the here and now. And the strange thing? Tomorrow, next week, or next year, those preferences will likely be tossed and rearranged in such a way that the nostalgic will grow weary of the jaded past and the here-and-nowers will find themselves humming a Springsteen song as they remember long ago nights of "cruising the strip" just to pass the time.

For many of us, there’s just something about a high school reunion that makes us want to become the person that our friends thought they knew back when, if only to please them for a night. Some of us pull it off, some don’t. The thing is, we never really were the person “they” thought they knew. Despite spending years in one another’s company, most of us bared only the surface of who we truly were. Like actors in an 80s sit-com, we put on a face and a persona that suited us at the time. Although it helped us survive the years during which that unfortunate teenage cocktail of hormones and insecurities gave us a tendency to destroy one another rather than lift each another up, it left us with the wrong impression in many cases.

Now, with the hindsight that middle age bestows along with extra pounds, undeniable wrinkles, and a higher bracket, we realize that we had more in common than we realized. Princesses, jocks, geeks, outcasts, the shy kids… whatever outward shell we wore to impress, court, or simply tick off one another at the time, we all had a soft underbelly of vulnerability that, when our heads hit the pillow, made us feel more alone than we ever let on, even to those who knew us best.

When, in 1985, we finally walked across that stage with most of our dignity intact and our impending freedom promising to make up the difference, we thought we were home free. As it turns out, that was not necessarily true. Most of the hardships and sufferings that seem to randomly strike humankind have touched our little cross section of small town America just like they touch everyone else. We were not insulated. Addictions, divorces, financial hardships, and even death have visited us in ways that our 18-year-old selves could not have predicted, or expected to survive.

Back then, we knew that bad things happened, but we were pretty sure they wouldn’t happen to us. We would be the ones who lived happily ever after. Except, no one really does that, at least not 100 percent of the time.

Over the years, we’ve had our triumphs, our tragedies, our tears. As is usually the case, the world has made much more of a mark on us than we’ve made on it. But you know what? It’s okay. It really is. That’s the beautiful part of mid-life, if you let it be. Despite what you look like or feel like or who you do or don’t share your bed with, it’s okay. You’re a grown up. You made it.

And something about that makes us more human and less demanding, even of ourselves. Gone are the nights of wondering what everyone thinks about us and whether we’re good enough or pretty enough or smart enough. We are at peace with the people we’ve become, and this makes us see others in a more forgiving light, as well. We’re slower to judge, knowing we’ve all fallen short at one time or another.

There’s no denying that we're the adults now, the ones ostensibly in charge of the world at this place and time. While our first reaction may be to seek the outlines of the classmates we once were, our higher calling is to explore and rejoice in the individuals that we have become. There’s pride in knowing we shaped each other into the people we now are, at least in some small way, and there’s redemption in knowing that the pains we inflicted on one another in the past are, if not forgotten, at least forgiven.

I can speak only for myself, of course, but I believe my sentiments are shared by many. Not by all, of course, and there’s simply no way around that. Not everyone shows up. Not everyone cares. Not everyone has moved past the past or was present enough in it to be interested in what happened to the rest of us. That’s okay. We are no longer bound unless we choose to be.

I, for one, choose to be.