A couple of weeks ago I was in a cafe with my finacee.

We hadn’t seen much of each other lately and ’things’ hadn’t been going too well, so he had popped by work so we could lunch together.

We nearly picked another cafe, but changed at the last minute. As we were sitting having lunch, a voice said ‘are you Inge?’. Immediately, the cogs turned and my memory was pristine.  ‘Karen?’. Karen. The last time I saw her was about 15 years ago at our 10-year reunion. And before that, it was during our final year at school.

Two things struck me about our encounter:

1. How much more clear memories are when they are bedded down way back when. For example, Karen and I went to primary and high school together and though we were never close friends, I still knew the name of her younger brother and her name came popping through the mist without any cognitive effort at all.
2. I wish I had been better friends with her back then because during a 10-minute discussion the other day, a half-hour lunch and a couple of phone calls, I find she’s an engaging character, who’s full of life, happiness and optimism. There’s an easiness between us that is quite natural, almost familial.

Anyhow, she’s planning a 25-year high school reunion. At our recent lunch, I asked who was on the committee. You and me, she said, so now I’m in planning mode.

It’s funny, my natural work tendency is to organise things. Karen is ‘bull-at-a-gate’ in her approach and I was trying to do my normal worky kind of thing – to organise thoughts and approaches. After a while I gave up. I am finding my role is to listen to her ideas and trust her judgment, and to leave the detail alone for while, to leave it in someone else’s capable hands.

In the meantime, my job is to arrange a post on Schoolfriends.com, to scan an old photo and to e-mail the reunion date to many friends so they can mark it in their calendars as a sacred spot, one that cannot be violated by family dos, fishing trips, sporting events.

While this post is not about creativity, it does seem to be about a return to self, of sorts. (Though let’s hope we don’t return to our previous selves’ taste in hairdos, eh?)