by Myrna Nickelsen | 12 Jan 2026
I don’t feel different. And I’m guessing you don’t either.
Last night I had dinner with Susan Corey and Dana Williams. I met Dana through our reunions, but Susan and I have been friends since the Philippines — since we were teenagers walking the halls at Wagner. We’ve managed to see each other through the years, our friendship among the rare threads that’s remained unbroken despite time and distance.
Throughout my visit, Susan and I talked about aging. About how we’re “up there” now, but we don’t really feel different. We talked about how much faster time is moving, how the years that once stretched endlessly now seem to blur together. And we talked about something harder: the reality that this coming reunion may well be our last.
Not because we’re giving up. But because of mathematics and biology.
Nearly one in three adults over 65 has mobility issues – and 93% have at least one chronic condition, while 78-79% have two or more. Through my work with a company that makes mobility devices, I’ve learned these statistics aren’t abstractions – they’re our future, if not already here. Many of us won’t be able to travel. Many of us will have health challenges that keep us home.
And many of us will be gone.
We may not feel different, but by age 60, most of us will have been diagnosed with something. These realities – uncomfortable as they are – are among the reasons I decided to organize one last reunion.
When I look at Susan, I still see the 16-year-old whose face is forever etched in my brain. To me, she looks exactly the same. Karen Trevino Johnson, Leslie Gilchrist Gruver, Pam Grice Hogan, Joe Avalos, Ed Welch, Larry Jones, Gabe Montes – people I’ve seen through the years all look exactly the same to me. Just a little older. A wrinkle here, a wrinkle there. Maybe Facebook’s greatest gift has been giving us time to get used to our older faces, so our jaws don’t drop when we finally meet again. To me, you’ve aged well if you’re still recognizable.
Will there be other gatherings after this? I’m sure there will be. Smaller ones, like we’ve always done. I get together with friends in the San Antonio or Austin area whenever I’m there. Often, I’ll coordinate with Mary and Pam so they can visit their daughters in Austin, and we three stay with Leslie, who also lives in Austin, for a few days. Those semi-impromptu gatherings will continue.
But there’s nothing like seeing one familiar face after another. One old friend after another. Friends who knew us before the aches and pains, before the extra pounds we can’t shed without medical help, before life wrote its story across our bodies and hearts.
Years ago – I think I was in my late 30s – Larry Jones and I met for dinner when I was visiting one of my sisters who lived in San Diego at the time. I remember him telling me that I was always going to be me to him – the me that was 16, the me before all the experiences. That stayed with me. I’ve since given speeches about how we never really leave our teen years, how we’re all still teenagers at heart – hopefully just a little wiser and kinder because of everything we’ve experienced.
When Dana, Susan, and I had dinner last night, we didn’t spend the evening reminiscing about the past. Sixteen is a lifetime ago. What mattered was the present: how we’re feeling about the world. How we’re really doing.
This reunion isn’t about reliving 1975 or 1980. It’s not about remembering who we were.
It’s about saying hello again.
It’s about finding out how everyone is doing – right now, in this moment, while we still can.
Because the clock is ticking louder than it used to. And some hellos can’t wait for next time.
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