I'm Spider Born, Spider Bred... and intimidated by Spiders?

Ten years is a long time.

Not in the grand scope of things, but for my 32-years-young-life, it feels significant.

Ten years ago, I graduated from University of Richmond.  And this year, I will return to the campus again for my ten year reunion.  And I have to admit, I'm a little bit intimidated.

You see, Richmond, which oft calls itself the "Princeton of the South" (along with 7-8 other schools), is a climber school.  The vast majority of its alums have grandiose goals of the names they will make for themselves, the things they will accomplish and the places they will go.

I was (am?) cut from the same cloth.

I have a double degree in Political Science and Physics (nuclear focus), minored in Russian and Mathematics.  I wrote three theses, including participating in the inauguration of an honors thesis program (I did not sleep senior year).  I graduated with honors, awards and accolades and had every intention of changing the world by the time I was 35.  [So I still technically have 3 years.  Tick tock.]

But instead of going on to create a PhD program combining Political Science and Physics to mediate and make international nuclear policy, I left academia and went into campus ministry.  Instead of graduating to accept six figure employment, and a title of international prestige, I went on to fund-raise my own salary for five years, where my title was a conversation stopper.  And then I left ministry, and after two years of working in higher ed, became a full-time stay-at-home mom to our three young children.

By all measures, I haven't accomplished by I thought I would, or what the university promised that its graduates would, or what many of my fellow alumni have.  Most days, my use of my degrees is anecdotal at best - which bowl helps the oatmeal to cool faster, which length string makes for a more dangerous slingshot, "this is not a Zero Sum game, kids!", which path I should take to head off my renegade two year old, etc.  Although I do use conflict resolution skills daily, it is not to mete out policy, but rather to keep WWIII from breaking out between my children.

And maybe this is just me, but when I think about returning to the birthplace of my adult life, I feel like I should have accomplished more.  I worry that everyone is farther ahead than me.  That I have failed to live up to potential, wasted my talents, and rendered myself obsolete in the annuls of university history.  I fear the awkward pause, the silent judgment, or the bland "oh that's nice" - and I feel the desire to assert that what I have done has meaning, to "them" not just to me.

Those small talk-y conversations, that are bound to happen at reunion, where we try to define ourselves in five minutes - they scare the bejeezus out of me.

And yet, the reality is, I am not actually embarrassed by my accomplishments (or lack thereof).  I'm proud the person that I have become.  I wouldn't be where I am, or married to whom I am, or doing what I am, if I hadn't made the career choices that I did.  I love my little people and am glad I get to be present for their little days.  I enjoy the work that I do in my "free" time and am proud of my accomplishments there, even if it's not a huge business (yet).  Some days, my lack of prestige or so called "accomplishment" bothers me, but most days, it doesn't.  I am content in my life, until I am try to compare myself to my "peers."

So what do I say when I go back for my reunion?

Do I go with pretentious?  "Well, I worked at Harvard Business School for a few years, and then I started my own company." (True, but glorified).

How about self-deprecating?  "I'm just a stay-at-home mom.  Nothing exciting."

Maybe holier than thou?  "I chose to put aside pursuing a prestigious career in order to really care for other people, through ministry, and now I serve people 24-7 in the toughest job in the world."

How about posturing? "My career is on hold for now, but I'm looking to return to graduate school in a few years once the kids are in school.  I'm hoping to continue to develop my experience in X in the meantime, so that I will be set-up well."

How about tongue in cheek? "I've been making copious amounts of humans and somehow miraculously keeping them alive.  I'm thinking of writing a book about all the silly things they say and all the weird conversations I've had about poop."

I have a hunch that I'm not the only person who is trying to figure out how to present themselves, for respect from their ten-years-ago peers.  But I also have a hunch that reunion will be a lot more fun all around (also funnier) if we cut the BS [husband said I should edit what I originally had] and just be unashamedly ourselves, whether or not that's impressive.

What we liked about each other then wasn't our accomplishments or our fame.  We were miserable then too, when we tried to compare ourselves to one another, or out-study one another in #ClubBoatwright.  Remember?

My best memories, my favorite times, were those hilarious sleep-deprived chair races through Gottwald, or botched water balloon launches, or raw moments of honesty where I got to know a stranger as a friend, laughter that put us in stitches, or dinners that we shared together after the research/homework/class was done.

It never was about accomplishment - I don't know why I'm tempted to make it about that now.

Maybe I'll just be honest:  "I'm not where I thought I would be, but I'm happy."

Just me?