“There’s no one else here from your year, so we moved your seat assignment with us,” my mother-in-law said when my husband and I walked into our high school’s Old Gym. Even though the “New Gym” is nearly thirty years old, the space in question will forever be known as the Old Gym.

Every year, our school hosts an alumni banquet the evening before Graduation Day. Anyone who has graduated from Jimtown High School is welcome, along with a spouse or plus one. Long tables divided by graduating year fill the Old Gym. It’s like a reunion but on a small scale.

Since we live across the country, Derek and I rarely make it. When we do, it’s because we’re in town for his National Guard Duty or have a younger family member graduating. This year it’s both. The few times we’ve attended, the situation has been the same: no other early-2000s alumni are present. Instead, we sit with my in-laws and the class of 1975.

I get it. Life is busy. Social media makes it easier to keep up with people or peek in on them when curiosity strikes. For my generation, there seemed to be an odd taboo about sticking around, being too enamored with our hometown, or too excited to reconnect. In the era of Napoleon Dynamite hype, none of us wanted to be Uncle Rico constantly reliving our “glory days.”

I know it’s not like this for everyone or everywhere. But I carried complicated negativity for years. In high school, I was a student full of promise, the kind that would grow up and “do great things.” For years, I felt too ashamed to return with my head held high. I left home. I grew up. But those great things never seemed to come. I married a pilot in the Air Force. Frequent moves made holding a job tricky, and I prioritized flexibility to maximize time together instead of building a career. I became a stay-at-home mom raising babies.

My days were full, fun, and busy. But in the back of my mind, doubt whispered, “You’ve squandered your potential. You’ll only return a disappointment.”

Whispers like that drive a wedge in our hearts, separating us from fully embracing where we started, where we’ve been, and where we currently find ourselves. This negativity steals contentment and leaves us uncomfortable within the pages of our own story.

Although I am not naturally inclined to the military lifestyle, all the moving opened my eyes to a different perspective. I discovered a world of people who love where they live—and if they don’t, they dive in to make it better. I learned it’s more fun to bubble over with excitement about where life has you—even if it looks dorky, than to look cool and constantly complain. The more people who get on board with seeing the good, the more normal it seems. Enthusiasm spreads, and positivity grows.

When you intentionally notice what makes where you are and where you’re from special, when you take time to be grateful for the foundation you’ve been given and where life has led, it’s easier to believe you’re living a really good life.
It’s magnetic and nearly magical.

My husband graduated 20 years ago. For the next 12 months, I’ll enjoy making jabs about how old he is and how I’m glad I didn’t graduate two decades ago. Next year, it’ll be my turn, and maybe I’ll convince a few others to join us at a 2000s table.
For now, I’m grateful for the long tables and the Old Gym. I’m proud of the growth our school system has seen in the last 20 years. I’m grateful for the time I spent in those halls, the teachers who poured into me, and the friends who were alongside me while I made mistakes that still make me cringe. I’m grateful for the boy I met in band class, the choice to marry him, and the life we have in North Dakota. Doubts still creeps in from time to time. But the truth is bigger: the potential hasn’t been squandered. Life has proven that potential lives in all of us. In all of our circumstances. Every place is full of potential. It’s just easier to see when we’re humble enough to embrace it.

For more stories on life in Hotdish Land, and creating a life you love, join me online at amyallender.com, on Instagram at @HeyMinot or @Amy_Allender, or Facebook @amyallenderblog.