Just got back from my 60th college reunion. That sentence alone feels like a time capsule. Sixty years? Really?

But yes, last weekend I was back in Williamstown, Massachusetts, nestled in the stunning beauty of the Berkshire Mountains, returning to the place that helped shape me. Williams College. It was glorious.

First, the setting. I had forgotten just how breathtaking the Berkshires are. Rolling hills, green velvet meadows, wildflowers blooming like they never got the memo about aging. It’s impossible to stand in that kind of beauty and not pause. Breathe. Absorb. Nature—real, untouched, New England nature—reminds you how lucky you are just to be alive and upright.

Then there was the golf. Yes, we played. Taconic Golf Club—if you know it, you know. It’s more than a course; it’s a walking meditation. There’s something about teeing off with people you once crammed for finals with (or skipped class with) that grounds you. A reminder that time, like a well-struck drive, flies… but it also lands, and if you’re lucky, it lands soft.

And oh, the conversations. The laughs. The repartee. It was as if we’d only taken a short nap since graduation, not six decades. The friendships hadn’t faded; they’d mellowed, deepened. And just as wonderful—perhaps even more so—was meeting classmates I didn’t know well back then. We were all so siloed in our little tribes in college. Now, 60 years later, we discover we actually like each other. Imagine that.

There were also mind-expanding moments. I sat in on lectures from current Williams professors. Stimulating. Thought-provoking. Eye-opening. It made me want to grab a backpack and sneak into a few more classes. The intellectual spark that a great teacher can ignite—it hasn’t dimmed at Williams. In fact, it’s burning brightly.  Here is Professor Matthew Carter of the Biology Department, who regailed us about AI and the brain.

But not everything was lighthearted nostalgia.

We heard from the college president—candidly, courageously—about the very real threats now facing higher education. The Trump administration’s recent actions have not been subtle. The attacks on DEI programs, the chilling rhetoric toward colleges like Harvard and Columbia, the looming threats to NIH and NSF funding, the specter of increased taxes on endowment income, the new burdens placed on institutions simply trying to foster diversity and inclusion—these aren’t abstract policies. They are direct hits on the future of places like Williams, and on the students who dream of being there one day.

One of my classmates captured it perfectly in a short list: what values should be non-negotiable in higher education? Academic freedom. Institutional authority over teaching and admissions. The right to conduct independent research. Students’ rights to speak, study, and learn without fear. These values aren’t partisan—they’re the very core of a democratic society. And they’re worth sticking one’s neck out for.

All of that—past, present, and future—was swirling in my head as the reunion wrapped up.

And yet, I left Williamstown not just with concern, but also with a sense of possibility. Why?

Because something new and inspiring is just beginning on campus. Williams is partnering with the Edge Foundation—the nonprofit I started nearly 20 years ago—to offer one-on-one coaching to students who want it. But here’s the brilliant part: the coaches are Williams alumni. Volunteering their time. Giving back. Offering their experience and presence to students today.

This was Williams’ idea—and it’s a good one. It connects generations. It gives students free access to trained coaches who can help them build executive function skills like planning, follow-through, and resilience. And it gives alumni a direct, personal way to support the next generation.

If this model works—and I believe it will—it could spread to colleges and universities across the country. My broader hope is this: that every young person, whether in school or not, has the option of working with a trained coach. And that every adult who wants to give back has a path to become one.

So yes, my 60th reunion was a celebration. But it was also a wake-up call.

And maybe that’s exactly what reunions are supposed to be: a time to remember, and a time to re-engage—with old friends, with shared values, and with a world that still needs thoughtful voices, curious minds, and people willing to show up.