Hearing from long-lost college roommate prompts a life review

The other day an email arrived from an old college roommate. It was startling to hear from someone after more than half a century. It was humbling to Google her and learn that she is a retired multidegreed professor. 

Sharon and I shared an apartment on the University of Illinois campus when it was still at Champaign-Urbana rather than Urbana-Champaign. We lost contact after graduation.

She wanted to catch up by phone or email. What did I have to say for myself? I decided to be candid in my email:

The newspaper career that looked so promising when I was in college really didn't go anywhere. I spent just about six years as a reporter and worked most of my life in university publications offices. Although it wasn't what I'd anticipated, and I didn't climb a career ladder, I was suited to the work. As for my personal life, I married unwisely at 22, took four years to extricate myself, and spent the rest of my childbearing years in dead-end relationships. I never had kids or remarried. But that's all water under the bridge now. On balance, I was no more unlucky than most people. I have been healthy, didn't lose an immediate family member until my 70s, have good friends, and am settled in a city I love (Chicago). 

Hearing from Sharon brought my past to the surface when I’d been doing an admirable job of living in the present. I had to recap a life that hadn’t gone as I’d hoped for. Acceptance is still a work in progress, even in my 70s. 

Following my divorce I went back to school for a master’s degree in journalism, but my newspaper career didn’t resume afterward because I tied myself to one relationship and then another. Perhaps I should be thankful, considering how newspapers have been decimated. 

Sharon’s email arrived when I was editing a project for my church. The only freelance jobs I’ve accepted since retiring have been favors for friends, so I was out of practice. But as I trimmed sentences, rearranged paragraphs, and queried inconsistencies and confusing wording, I thought, “I’ve still got it.” 

So, which is it: am I proud of my word skills or disappointed that my career plateaued before I was out of my 20s? The two aren’t mutually exclusive. I didn’t live up to my early promise, but I worked with words in all my jobs, and they honed my skills. In retirement I value the skills more than job titles. 

For some reason it’s been easier to put the man and kids issue behind me. Maybe it’s that I don’t feel like an outlier among my friends. Many of them never married or are widowed or divorced, and any kids are long grown. More of them are single than not. We spend little time talking about children and even less time talking about men. 

The older I get, the more of the world’s sadness I observe, the more fortunate I feel. As much as I abhor our country’s direction under Trump, I’m thankful I don’t live in Ukraine or Gaza. Friends died at 47, 54, 63, and 72; I’ve never been hospitalized. Friends have lost a sibling and even a child; I was 71 when my father died, 73 when my mother died, and my three siblings are still living. I have enough money to support my modest lifestyle. I have people I care about and who care about me, interests, and the faculty to appreciate a good book. What more can I ask for?

There is no need anymore to be in striving mode, no need to compare. As long as my health lasts, this is truly the best time. 

Irony: the life review that Sharon’s email prompted turned out to be comforting rather than upsetting.