When I went to my 30th reunion no one knew who I was.

Now that in and of itself might not seem remarkable, as appearances can change a lot in 30 years. What was strange in this case was the fact that I was one of only two guys from my class who, all those years later, still looked essentially the same. We still had all our hair, it was still (for the most part) the same color it had been, and we were still within 15 or 20 pounds of what we’d weighed back then. I was even dressed in a similar, albeit updated, style.

No one who had known us even casually could have failed to recognize us in the street, much less at a reunion.

After about the 4th or 5th “I’m sorry..?” I had to laugh, as it was somewhat surreal. Everyone thought I was some classmate’s significant other, dragged there against my will! Even when I identified myself no one could recall me. It was the strangest sensation. I had always thought that I had been somewhat invisible way back then, but I’d no idea how true that really was!

One thing is certain, though, in keeping with the theme of the post: There was– and is– nothing romantic about being the lonely outsider. It was terrible. Poverty is nothing to romanticize either. Hard times are hard times, and there’s nothing cool about it.

People who feel a bit uneasy about their relatively easy and comfortable lives might want to consider going all out to help the less fortunate. That’s a much better response than faking a harder life.