I'm thankful my high school years weren't my best years

From Saturday's Briefing:

I have just celebrated 30 years since graduating high school with a reunion at a suburban country club, including a pasta buffet, a DJ serving up '80s tunes and a roomful of people I either remember well or have no recollection of ever seeing once in my entire life.

I left feeling not nostalgic but thankful. Thankful for enduring friendships, fond memories, shared experiences and, most of all, thankful that my high school years weren't my best years. If I could whisper in the ear of 1989 me, I would share, "The best is yet to come."

My generation lacks a singular defining moment. We were mercifully spared the Great Depression and World War II. We were too young for the draft or Woodstock.

We recall gas shortages, hostage crises and the malaise of the 1970s. We remember the flash and excess — and the parachute pants and shoulder pads — of the 1980s. We witnessed the crumbling of the Soviet Union in the early '90s and the dot-com boom and bust during the rest of that decade. We watched pension plans decline and mostly disappear.

We were in the middle of starting families on Sept. 11, 2001. We've been raising our children in a post-9/11 world, seeking balance between sheltering and preparing our kids for an uncertain future.

My generation has learned to adapt to technological changes — some forced upon us and later others of our own design. We grew up with phones attached to walls and televisions that required antennae and someone willing to turn a knob to change the channel. We embraced cable TV, video game consoles and the social-life salvation of call waiting.

I first used an Apple Macintosh SE computer in yearbook in 11th grade, creating pages on a wee screen not much bigger and far less powerful than my current iPhone.

No one I knew owned a mobile phone in college.

I wore a company pager in the late '90s.

I can identify a floppy disk, know how to change the thermal paper on a fax machine, and understand the importance of rewinding VCR tapes — though none of that matters anymore.

I've embraced social media, online shopping, the cloud, countless new applications for work and artificial intelligence (Alexa and I banter every day).

And yet, in a sure sign that I am aging, I'm finding that I have limits.

I have no interest in curating a list of YouTubers to follow. I'm happy to access YouTube for the occasional how-to video (thank you, sink disposal repair geniuses!), but it's never been my go-to entertainment venue.

While I have the Snapchat app, I rarely use it and am perplexed by teenagers who keep up daily streaks by sending photographs of their forehead or a car dashboard or ceiling tiles.

I find myself irritated when my son says he "talked" to someone when in fact he used his phone to send typed messages back and forth. "Talking" requires the exchange of spoken words.

I keep thinking that I understand the definition of a meme, but my daughter tells me I'm wrong. The exact characterization of a VSCO girl eludes me, though I gather that the current version includes puka shell choker necklaces, slip-on Vans and scrunchies (you know, the oversized ponytail holders we wore in '80s). I'm just now catching up to the idea of an eBoy, though I can't be sure that I've seen one in the wild.

I don't need to adopt these trends of Generation Z, and I don't begrudge them their fads, even the ones that will make them cringe when they look back in a couple of decades. I look forward to how they'll change the world, and I hope that they, too, keep seeking their glory days and the promise that the best is yet to come.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.