There’s talk of a potential work reunion.

It started with an invitation to join an alumni group. Then there was the post suggesting a summer meetup. Then came the idea to create a Doodle, so everyone could outline their availability.

My history with Doodle has taught me that I might as well fill any old dates, because the organiser will invariably ignore them and go with something that doesn’t work for me. It’s hard to tell whether I’m unlucky or unpopular. Or possibly both.

However, let’s assume for a moment that there is no Doodle conspiracy, and I am free and able to attend this unexpected reunion.

Should I go?

It’s been ten years since I last saw most of my former colleagues. I loved them dearly, but that was back when we had work in common. Without this significant shared interest, it could be but a room full of strangers. And I have poor form when it comes to rooms full of strangers.

In fact, thinking back to the recruitment process for the role in question, I remember excelling during the two formal interviews, only to receive negative feedback following the final ‘meet the team for drinks’ stage. Fortunately, they went ahead and employed me anyway, which suggests that I may be unpopular rather than unlucky. Vaguely comforting – lady luck is the only friend I need!

Truth be told, I’m scared of reunions. I’ve skipped far more than I’ve attended.

In some instances, the decision was easy – for example, avoiding a recent high school reunion being organised by the school bully. Others, however, have left me laden with regret, my anxieties about running into a handful of ne’er-do-wells obscuring the clear and obvious benefits of reacquainting myself with scores of brilliant people I’ve been fortunate enough to know.

As for this particular work reunion, it was frankly excruciating going through with my decision to leave ten years ago. I did it for love, and on that occasion, lady luck proved not to be on my side (she certainly wasn’t my girlfriend). Worse still, I attended a friend’s leaving do a year later and received a hero’s welcome, which served only to compound the feeling that perhaps I’d made some rather disastrous life choices.

Maybe that’s what this boils down to – for all the pleasures of temporary reconnection, reunions also remind us of what might have been. Professional possibilities that we passed up; colleagues who we ought to have stayed in touch with but didn’t; face-to-face confrontation with the things we have chosen – wisely or inexplicably – to reject.

Then again, did I really have a choice? Could I have acted differently? Is free will an illusion? Is the illusion of free will itself an illusion?

Should the Doddle work out in my favour, I can inflict these questions upon my former work colleagues in the summer, safe in the knowledge that I’ll never be invited to another reunion thereafter.