As I boarded my flight to Boston, I couldn’t help but reflect on how surreal it was. Twenty years since I had last set foot on the campus of my boarding school, a place that had been my home during some of the most formative years of my life. I was just 14 when I left my family and flew halfway across the country to attend high school in the New England area. I didn’t fully grasp it then, but those years shaped so much of who I am today.
Boarding school was a whirlwind of emotions and experiences—hormonal changes, discovering yourself, facing uncertainties, and learning to navigate life without the unconditional safety net of family. At that age, you’re thrust into an environment where you’re surrounded by people who don’t know you, but soon enough, they become your tribe, your sisters, and your confidants. I remember arriving in 2000, being assigned roommates who were complete strangers, and wondering how we were going to survive the next four years. Our dorm, filled with 14 girls, was where we went through all the ups and downs—laughter, tears, and moments of confusion that we would later laugh about.
After I graduated, I drifted away from that world. I moved cities, moved countries, and apart from a few friends and one teacher, I had little to no contact with my old life. So, when a close friend mentioned the 20-year reunion, I was hesitant, but something inside me said, “Go.” And so, I went. But, of course, life decided to throw in a bit of humor. On the flight to Boston, I managed to spill coffee all over myself, endured excruciating ear pain, and landed looking like someone straight out of a chaotic movie scene—hair everywhere, stained clothes, and glasses askew. My friends, who I hadn’t seen in years, were there to greet me, and the first thing my best friend, Maura, said was, “Maybe you shouldn’t drive.” In that moment, I was transported back 20 years. My friends, who I remembered as these organized, type-A personalities, seamlessly took control. It was like nothing had changed. I didn’t need to make decisions. I didn’t need to lead. For the first time in years, I just… existed.
The next three days were magical. We settled into a rhythm of old familiarity, with the kind of ease that comes from knowing someone through all their awkward, messy years. There was no need to put on airs. We talked about everything—our lives, families, careers—without judgment, without pressure. We revisited all the places we had lived, laughed, and sometimes cried together. Wandering through the campus, it felt like time had both stood still and yet also passed in a blink.
One of the most profound moments came from reconnecting with my freshman roommate. We had struggled living together as 14-year-olds, both of us navigating our own emotional turbulence. Twenty years later, she apologized for those days, but the beauty of time and maturity is that all those past grievances seem so insignificant. We both knew we were just kids, doing our best in a confusing time.
Looking back on that weekend, I realized how powerful it was to return, not just to a place, but to the people who knew me during such a pivotal time. Boarding school was a crash course in independence. We had to grow up fast learning to manage our own time, emotions, and even the mundane tasks like laundry and cleaning. It built resilience, shaped us into who we are today. And yet, despite the years and the distance, it was as if nothing had changed when we were together again.
Reuniting with old friends, reliving those memories, and reconnecting with a part of myself that I hadn’t touched in years was nothing short of transformative. Those formative years, the people who shared them with me, and the experiences that shaped us—they stay with you, no matter how far you go or how much time passes.
One Response
Engaging read! “Beauty of time and maturity is that all those past grievances seem so insignificant” – well said!