It took me 15 minutes to decide to drive over.

Once I was in the lot in front of the bar, it took me another 15 minutes to work up the nerve to go in.

I don’t know why.

These are people I went to high school with, old classmates.

These are people I’ve seen at other reunions, and talked with here and there in life along the way.

These are people my age, who have also lived through their younger years, and their parenting years. Their career years. Into their mid-life years.

Like me.

But there is still the kid in me that is still asking for approval. Who still hasn’t decided that it’s okay to not be liked by everyone. Who hasn’t quite learned it’s best to be loved by a handful, if that, in life.

Who also hasn’t quite learned that love is a product of going outside of yourself, and your safety zone, and your clean and orderly life to let another in- even if it is just a few of their words, or a little of the weight of one of their anxieties or weaknesses or concerns or doubts or awkwardnesses.

Like mine.

Once I went into the Barley Room, I saw them, my old classmates, clustered together on the patio, and there were greetings.

And I knew I was fine, and accepted, and one of these.

There were about twenty or so there, and I tried to talk to as many as I could for a brief moment, one to one.

I stayed a little over an hour and hugged everyone that was still there that I knew before I left,

Never enough time to talk.

But what I got to share there with them tonight, for the moment, was more than enough.

And I am glad I made myself go. And get out of my truck.