So, what have you been up to?

It’s the wonder of technology. Anyone can find anyone on the ‘net. Even Ted Kaczynski would find it difficult to avoid a web capture these days.

But I’m no Ted Kaczynski. My crimes consist of too much navel-gazing. I don’t even jump turnstiles (anymore.) I have a hard time writing “she didn’t feel well” on excuse notes to my daughter’s school. “Can’t I tell them you were up late on Facebook last night?” I plead. So, who do I have to hide from?

I already went to my 25th college reunion a few, okay, eight, years ago. That wasn’t too humiliating. I still had my figure then, and most of my acting school buddies didn’t show—either too famous or not enough. The ones who remembered me were people I passed over in college—like Dave The Futon King. He was kind of a nerd in college. He’s still kind of a nerd but it turns out the nerds are the nice people. Did you know that? Either that or they turn out to be the Unabomber. Dave turned into the King of Futons. He makes a good living and he gets to be on TV in his own commercials. I wonder if he gets residuals?

But this isn’t about a college or high school reunion. We all know what to expect from those. The e-mail that found me, and now taunts me with uncertainty and self-doubt (watch that navel-gazing) was from the last ad agency I worked for, and left, when my now-20-year-old son was born. Some bright ad executive decided it was time to network us all back together for a big ol’ reunion.

I admit it was the best ad agency that ever was, with some of the brightest people in the business running and working in it. Part of the reason I never went back (the other part being my son) was that the agency was being swallowed whole by the Brits, who at that time were buying up all the U.S. ad agencies they could and folding them into one or two Murdochian conglomerates.

Most of the best people jumped ship soon after being pirated by the Brits, who soon learned that ad agencies are all about the talented people who work in them. The agency as I knew it closed up shop and we all scattered into our individual corners. I was too busy changing diapers and singing “Wheels On The Bus” to keep tabs on most of my colleagues and the internet was still only a gleam in Al Gore’s eyes. Eventually I lost touch with almost everyone I had worked with. The one friend I kept was the one who sent me the e-mail reunion invite.

So far, the list of e-vite responders includes my first officemate, my last boss, and some key members of the last creative team I worked and played with for the last five years of my advertising career. I look forward to seeing them all. I RSVP’ed right away. Yes, I said, I’m coming.

First, the excitement of seeing old friends and colleagues. Then, the groveling self-doubt. “What have you been doing all these years?” I hear them ask.

These are not the kids I shared pitchers of beer with at college bars in Boston, who saw me walk to class down Beacon Street in my pajamas. Among my college classmates, if you are not brain dead yet, you are a success.

These are professional colleagues who by now are either retired, at the top of their game, or living an entirely different life. Count me in the last category.

So, what have I been doing? How to make 20 years a succinct answer, put it on a business card, capture it in between canapés? “Being a full-time parent” is kind of a cop-out to people who stayed in the business while raising a family.

I ran into an old friend recently who answered that question about her current occupation with “I manage my investments.” I liked that. She’s a stay-at-mansion mom with a huge divorce settlement. She’s thinking about down-sizing soon. The pool is just too much work.

So I’ve come up with my answer. “I manage our properties,” I’ll say. It sounds better than full-time housewife in two houses and a bungalow who writes poetry. Doesn’t it?

- Cass Collins