I think I peaked in college. I’m sure that’s a premature statement, being only five months out, but in this fresh stage of postgrad life, it surely seems as though life can get no better than it was in those four wonderful years in the southern part of heaven. I spent my entire senior year in a state of complete and utter denial— I honestly didn’t believe I would really have to graduate until I walked into Kenan Stadium on the morning of May 13— and I’m still somewhat in it. I can’t believe that I will never again wander the terrifying halls of Phillips, hopelessly lost and just trying to get to class. I can’t believe that I will never again put in my headphones and walk faster past the Pit as people try to hand me flyers about a capella concerts or recruit me for Dance Marathon (sorry, everyone). I can’t believe I will never again go to pint night and see seemingly every person I’ve ever met over the last four years. And I definitely can’t believe I will never again frantically enter the basketball lottery, lose, badger my friends to give me their extra ticket, wait in line to get good seats in whatever phase we have, scream for the Heels until I lose my voice, sing the alma mater and fight song with thousands of people, and shout GO TO HELL DUKE regardless of who we’re playing. There’s just something about Carolina that gets under your skin and becomes a part of you. Wherever I go, however long it has been since I was a student, there is a part of me that is forever Carolina.
I can recite Charles Kuralt’s famous quote almost word-for-word. It’s a good one, because can we really pinpoint why, exactly, we love Carolina so much? What is it indeed that binds us to this place as to no other? Maybe it is the bell and the well and the stone walls. Or maybe it is the people who walk alongside us through the paths in McCorkle and the halls of Davis. And maybe it is the experiences we can’t get anywhere else. I think, maybe, it is all of these.
Carolina is waiting in line (or going absurdly early) to get a drink from the Old Well to guarantee a 4.0 you know you won’t actually get. It’s complaining about being able to hear the bell tower ring every fifteen minutes from every corner of campus, but secretly loving it. It’s reminiscing about the requisite freshman slog from south campus to classes, and hating on all the annoying Granville kids and their fancy dining hall. It’s staying up late writing papers and having to make the walk of shame from Davis to the UL. And it’s seeing the finals streakers for the first time and being traumatized because you saw someone you knew.
There’s something about a snowball fight at the Old Well on a cold January day, and sitting on the grass by Wilson on a warm April one. There’s something about the arboretum in the fall and the quad in the spring, about hearing the Whistler somewhere on campus, and there’s even something about Gary yelling at everyone who has the audacity to walk through the Pit. There’s absolutely something about blue cups and rushing Franklin and always loving Roy Williams. But Eve Carson put it best: “It’s us— the student body— who make UNC what it is.”
Because Carolina is also your freshman roommate, good or bad; it’s classroom acquaintances who become real friends; and it’s finally finding your people. It’s the people you suffer through your major with and it’s your sorority sisters. It’s living with your best friends and it’s having so many others in close proximity. It’s Carol Folt, who is more of a meme than a chancellor at this point, and it’s frat boys coming out to roost on their frat benches on warm spring days. It’s the Whistler, and the ever-present a capella groups in the Pit, and the countless Pit Preachers, and the OG Pit Preacher Gary. It’s Joann the crossing guard and the P2P drivers who whip those things around corners and make you fear for your life. And it’s Roy daggum Williams, and it’s Marcus and Brice and Nate and Joel and Theo and Luke and every basketball player you’ve ever loved. Carolina is, as it was meant to be, the university of the people.
And there’s something that binds you to nearly four thousand other people who lived the same four years with you. There’s something about learning chants at orientation and singing the alma mater for the first time together. There’s something about tripping on the bricks on FDOC and hoping nobody noticed. There’s something about experiencing your first Halloween on Franklin, and, yes, about riding the P2P home late that night. There’s something about going to Buns after a football game and taking your parents to Topo on parents’ weekend. There’s something about remembering Dean Smith together. There’s something about mooching rides to Cookout and mourning the first tournament loss of your college career, and there’s something about moving out of your freshman dorm. There’s something about playing the weirdest intramural sports you’ve ever heard of and coming so close to a championship win. There’s something about Jersday Thursdays and petting Rameses for good luck on game days. There’s something about fraternity tailgates and early-college obsessions with the Clefs. There’s something about Late Night With Roy. There’s something about beating Duke and sprinting to Franklin to see people climbing on light poles, and jumping over fires, and all of us rejoicing together. There’s something in March about watching the Heels go further and further into the tournament and letting our hopes build and build. There’s something about an entire campus holding their breath together as one incredible shot was overshadowed by another, and there’s also something about being heartbroken together. There’s something about watching a quarterback named Mitch Trubisky bring us back a couple Ws, and our kicker running down the field in Tallahassee doing the tomahawk chop. There’s something about the timeless words, “The ceiling is the roof.” There’s something in March about watching the Heels go further and further into the tournament and letting our hopes build and build— again. But this time, there’s something about the sweet taste of victory and of redemption. This time, there’s not something about fifty-five thousand people all celebrating together, there’s everything about it. And then there’s something about returning for senior year, and being shocked that it came so fast. There’s something about finally snagging your own senior brick and not regretting the hole you left behind. There’s something about the fear that struck deep in all of our hearts when we heard the Davie Poplar had been attacked, and the relief when we heard that one of our own had bravely saved it. There’s something about senior bar golf with your friends, about going to La Rez and Bob’s and CFD, and Tru if you’re fancy. There’s something about late night trips to Waffle House, and Sup Dogs, and Benny’s. There’s something about finally keeping track of ten receipts to get your free Yopo and about sunsets at Maple View. There’s something about frequenting the Root Cellar, and Open Eye, and Looking Glass. There’s something about your very last semester at this place, and trying to hang onto it as tightly as you can. There’s something about using your senior standing for your Duke ticket and getting to rush Franklin all the way from the Dean Dome. There’s something about trekking to all the campus landmarks for graduation pictures with your very favorite people. There’s something about savoring that last week between your last final and graduation. There’s something about senior pint night, and camping at Jordan Lake, and just walking around campus because you can’t believe you’re going to have to leave. And then, all too soon, there’s something about wearing a Carolina blue robe in Kenan Stadium, sitting with those nearly four thousand people for the very last time.
Chapel Hill gives you a home and a family. Whether you were a Tar Heel born and bred or not, you know you’ll be one until you’re a Tar Heel dead. Wherever we came from, wherever we are going, we will always have a home in that little city on the hill and a family in all who wear that most beautiful shade of blue. And maybe that’s why it’s so hard to leave. Because Carolina means so much to every one of us. Because we leave without knowing when we’ll return. Because she does seep into your pores and get into your blood, and when she tells you to leave, it does hurt, so much. Because there’s something special about this place and these people, and maybe that’s why those hooligans eight miles down the road love to hate us so much. But when we’re ten years older, maybe living somewhere colder, we’ll hear that quiet voice call us back home. Because when Carolina is on our minds, we think of Chapel Hill, and— thinking— return home; because you never really get over being a part of the University of North Carolina; and because Carolina is on the floor, on your shirt, and in your heart. Because we have all experienced that Carolina magic and left a part of our souls in a place called Chapel Hill. And because we are so proud of the incredible alums who gave us these words to describe our feelings of missing Chapel Hill, of missing home.
Oh my sweet Carolina, what compels me to go? Oh my sweet disposition, may you one day carry me home. I know I won’t ever again call Chapel Hill home, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll call North Carolina home. Whatever it is that compels me to go, there’s something just as strong reminding me of where I belong. For it is true for me as it is for all Tar Heels: through all the years of our lives, wherever we may go, our hearts will always beat just a bit faster when we hear the symphonic syllables: Chapel Hill.
Thanks for reading, xoxo Mo
Moriah Sharpe 