There Can Be Only One

Today was the Johnson family reunion.  Attendance has slowly declined over the years, but there is always a pretty sizeable crowd of people I mostly don't know and whose names I will never remember.  Every year (that I can remember) my grandmother suggests that we get nametags for the next year.  We never do.  It's probably because she only married into the family and so isn't one of the lucky few born with the Johnson name (which gives the requisite clout to enact sweeping changes like nametag reform).  Technically, the reunion will one day become the obligation of me and my heirs, as I am the only male Johnson in the most recent generation.  When I am in charge, there will be nametags.  They will help in situations like today when, for example, a relative I didn't know came up to Rachel and me and said that he hadn't recognized us and thought we were a young married couple.  I feel as though that's the kind of observation which, on realization of its inaccuracy, I would keep to myself.  You know, because it's awkward.

This evening, when I went out to dinner with my parents, two separate people commented that I looked much younger than I actually am.  That, while not exactly desired in my case, is a much better observation to make and share.

Most of the day was taken up with sorting through clothes and culling the herd of my weakest attire.  I now have a corner of the living room set up as a staging ground for my departure on the 19th.  The other corner of the room is Rachel's staging area.   One week from now I will be totally moved in and hopefully getting to know my fellow residents. 

It's an interesting thought- there are hundreds of people whose names I don't even know with whom I will be thrust into the crucible that is law school.  In the past- Woodberry, William and Mary- similar conditions have resulted in my finding the best friends I could imagine being lucky enough to have.  Before Woodberry I would have had no concept what it meant to know Beau or Tyler or Liza or a hundred other people.  Before William and Mary, how could I have even understood the impact that Kay or Absi or David or another hundred people would have on my life?  Who's going to do the equivalent of sitting on my lap before asking my name?  Who will I first meet in a kitchen late one night while making rice krispy treats?  Or while in a performance of some sort?  Who will I hate on the first day only to love by the last?  Who will take, with no hint of shame, my last slice of pizza?  Who will express unhappiness over a nickname?  Who will inordinately hate my bagpipes (though that probably applies to more of my friends than have directly told me)? 

Do I EXPECT to make wonderful friends in law school?  No, and I hadn't really even thought about it until recently.  Not only is it not something you can plan on, but I also can't fathom any missing personality type in the list of people I care about and want to hang out with.  And yet... statistically (and historically), I feel as though at the end of three years there will be at least one more person I can't imagine not having known forever.  It's a natural outcome of close quarters, shared experience, and time.  A pleasant unexpected consequence to this whole adventure.  I'm sure that there will be unpleasant unexpected consequences, so I'll happily take what I can.

I imagine that in a few years I will look back over this blog to jog my memory about my thought process going in to this ordeal and reflect on what a fool I was and I'll think: "What?!  There was a time I didn't know _____ ______?  I don't even remember what that would feel like." 

To all my friends who have helped shape the course of my life over the last ten years in particular: thanks for being irreplaceable, influential, and unique enough so as to render any thinking of my life before I knew you into a paradox.