The Pursuit of Being Fully Alive
Lonely in a Crowd at a Family Reunion
Holiday gatherings can be trying for introverts
It’s nearly impossible to have a substantive conversation when we’re all crammed in the same house on a cold autumn day. This is not the time nor the place. This is the time for conviviality and laughter.
My wife and I are each the youngest of four. My sibs span 15 years. My wife’s, 9 years. We were both “accidental serendipities.” At least, that’s what they tell us.
I lead a very public life. I’m a college professor and a musician. I’m accustomed to interacting with hundreds of students on a daily basis, have absolutely no qualms about addressing an audience of 1000 people, and have served in administrative posts for both my university and my professional organizations.
I doubt anyone would call me shy.
Family reunions — on the other hand — are a whole ‘nother kettle of fish! In fact, they can be downright anxiety-inducing.
Maybe it’s those holiday gatherings back when I was ten years old when everyone wanted to talk about car payments and mortgages while I was more interested in video games and comic books.
Or maybe it’s that fact that it seems every family has a stand-up comic who captures the entire table with an endless series of one-liners, and that never has been, nor never will be… ME!
Or perhaps it’s the fear of getting seated across the table from that sibling with a military career and is absolutely certain you’ll find his stories about routine field drills to be the most riveting thing since the season closer of Downtown Abbey. You sit there stuffing turkey in your mouth wanting to say…
“As soon as you liberate France or stop the AIDS epidemic in Africa please give me a call. But until then…”
I suspect I’m just sounding like a self-absorbed, douche-bag relative. I guess that might, in fact, be the case.
But really? What I actually find lacking at most family reunions is a chance to have a truly meaningful conversation with the people I earnestly care about, and people that I know truly care about me.
And you know those moments, when you’re in the middle of telling a story that represented a pivotal point in your life when suddenly, somebody hollers out…
“HEY! PASS ME THOSE YAMS! WILL YA!!??”
“What were you saying?”
“Um… Not sure. I forgot.”
Perhaps I Can Redeem Myself
My life has completely pivoted in the past five years. My parents have long ago passed on, and my in-laws too. My older siblings lead completely different lives in opposite corners of the country. None of them live closer than 2500 miles away.
That said, I often write in these pages about my lovely children, all of whom are remarkable human beings doing amazing things to make the world a better place. While none of them were around to participate in the D-Day Invasion on Normandy, they each have interesting stories to tell, and I’m much more interested in listening to them than I am in rehashing my time-worn tropes.
But even then, when they all come home at the same time, I find myself cowering in the corner, longing to have an in-depth chat with my son about his life as a young academic, or pining to check in with one of my daughters for a quick tutorial on understanding Gen X, Y, and Z.
But it’s nearly impossible when we’re all crammed in the same house on a cold autumn day. This is not the time and place for substantive conversation. This is the time for conviviality and laughter.
I’m good with that.
But some other people are just plain good AT that!
That’s not me.
I guess we don’t call middle-aged dads curmudgeons for nothin’! In fact, I sort of enjoy wearing that title like a badge of honor.
“What’s up with dad?”
“Eh… He’ll be fine. He’s just doing his curmudgeon thing!”
Yeah. That’s me.
Does this mean I’m likely to write family gatherings out of the script?
HELL NO! Now, these are MY children, and I’m delighted to gather them back into the fold and proclaim loudly to the neighbors —
“HEY. Look what we made! We even have a granddaughter, now! How ‘bout them apples?”
The neighbors won’t notice.
We sent my brother over to their house to talk about when his army battalion polished all the tools in Germany in just one weekend. Doubt we’ll see any of them again until Monday.
In the meantime, I’ll just wear that lonely expression on my face as I sit in the corner of my dining room.
Am I really lonely, though? Meh… I don’t wanna talk about it.
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