With two reunions and my 10-year wedding anniversary on tap last summer, I was determined to get my weight back to what it was when I got married.

For once, I achieved my New Year’s resolution, clocking in at 185 pounds. One benefit of this was being able to fit in the Colby Outdoor Orientation Trip (COOT) t-shirt I’d worn in 1997 upon beginning freshman year at the college.

Thanks to the pandemic, Colby was forced to postpone graduation ceremonies and reunions for two years. As a result, not only had a multitude of classes stormed the campus in June 2022, but graduations for the classes of 2020 and 2021 were held as well.

My wife Lauren and I arrived in time to see one class’s after party. I admit that it stroked my fragile ego a little to have younger folks see my shirt and marvel that first, it was still in one piece, and second, it still fit.

But then one young woman, garbed in cap and gown, remarked with a grin that 1997 was the year she was born.

“You’re vintage, and I love it,” she said.

My ego went back into hiding. Vintage?

Seriously, though, I had to chuckle. I’m too old to be young, and too young to be old.

“I’m yold,” I told Lauren with a shrug, amalgamating “young” and “old” into a term that bridges that point in the spectrum of life where you’re still a little bit of both.

It’s actually a nice place to be. A happy medium. Middle of the road.

Attending a reunion, returning to a place where you spent four years and being surrounded by some of the people with whom you spent them, is also like reacquainting with a past version of yourself. I lived much of my time at Colby stressing over exams and term papers and bellyaching over a broken heart, so I don’t particularly miss those times. Although I did learn to play guitar and wrote a few songs there, too.

I see that past version of myself at various places around the campus, and I wish I could advise him to stress less, manage time and emotions better, and have a little more fun.

But I say that from the vantage point of being yold. I wonder what my old self might tell my yold self.

Soon after last visiting the campus in 2016 I’d become a father, a year after losing my own. I’d also gone through a separation and, thank God, reconciliation. As Lauren and I drove along Mayflower Hill and the “Love Theme from St. Elmo’s Fire” came up in the road trip playlist, the ups and downs of college years and the two decades that followed all rushed together in an emotional tidal wave.

The toughest part about age is watching those who were there when you were born into this world age as well. First saying goodbye to loved ones from my grandparents’ generation, and now my parents’ generation.

And it’s also growing further apart from friends and family my own age. Due largely to geography, but sometimes for other reasons. As we get married and start families, the opportunities for those “what are you doing next weekend” get-togethers go by the wayside.

The mood of the world has changed, too. I spent most of my single-digit years in the ’80s — and the music, movies and comic books of that day are like old friends. Even politics back then seemed better — Ronald Reagan and Tip O’Neill saw past their differences and crossed the proverbial aisle, for the sake of the country.

A lot of us look on those childhood times as more innocent, simpler, better than things are now.

Many of today’s TV shows reflect that urge to hang onto the past, to bring it into the present and give it current relevance. In one given week Lauren and I watched “Picard,” “The Conners” and “The Wonder Years” — all either revisitations or reboots of ’80s shows we enjoyed. I look forward to the return of “Frasier,” in which Mr. Crane goes back to his old “Cheers” stomping grounds of Boston.

Artificial intelligence appears to be another way of connecting the past to the future. A diehard Beatles fan, I’m thrilled that the burgeoning technology has allowed the band to successfully complete what is likely to be its final song, “Now and Then.” Paul, George and Ringo had attempted in vain to finish it in the ’90s from overdubs on John’s ’70s demo.

I can go more into the Beatles, and the ups and downs of AI, in a future column. I’m just glad to see a 60-year legacy wrapped up beautifully.

It’s scary how quickly songs of youth become oldies; heck, I heard “Walkin’ on the Sun” by Smash Mouth on an oldies station the other day.

Even some of my own songs have become old enough to drink. There’s one from soon after I graduated in 2001, written from the perspective of an alumnus roughly 20 years down the road. Basically, who I am now.

Part of it goes:

“Up on old Mayflower Hill
I hope they remember me still
As pages of my memory drift behind
I lived there many years before
And when I walk back through that door
I gaze into the mirror of my mind.”

I’m glad to have the perspective of youth and older age. A happy medium. Middle of the road. A gradually graying guy wearing that old COOT shirt.

I embrace the lessons I’ve learned and the ones to come. As life goes on, the ups and downs make more sense.

To borrow from that cap-and-gowned lady — I’m vintage, and I love it.

Alex Lear edits the Sun Journal’s opinion page.