College is a constant state of change. Just a few weeks ago, I was in rooms full of people dressed as their favorite Halloween characters — Star Wars Jedis, Minions, even Troye Sivan. In a few more weeks, I’ll be sitting in another room, this time surrounded by my family, dressed in our best holiday clothes. Life at UNC moves fast, and every moment feels like a new beginning.
This year especially has been marked by change. A new chancellor was officially elected and on a larger scale, so was our new U.S. president. In Chapel Hill, we’ve seen loads of renovations, fences around Polk Place and a new Meantime location. It’s a lot to take in, and yet, even amid all this change, there’s something about UNC that feels constant, grounding and timeless.
I was reminded of this when I was fundraising in the Pit for Samaa. An alumna from the 1980s stopped to buy a chai. “Not much has changed here,” she said, laughing. “Everything looks just about as it did when I was here, but the people — the people are different.”
Her words stuck with me. She was right. UNC is a living, evolving place, yet its essence remains the same. The bricks of the Pit, the towering trees along the quads, the Wilson Library steps — they’ve all been here for decades, witnessing generations of students as they laugh, grow and leave their marks. The faces change, the challenges shift, but UNC’s soul persists.
There’s something comforting about walking the same pathways that hundreds of thousands of others have walked before you. In the fall, the leaves turn the walkways into a canvas of yellows, reds and oranges, and it’s hard not to feel a sense of gratitude for the simple beauty around you.
Of course, those same leaves also make the brick pathways absurdly slippery, but even that has a kind of charm. There’s a shared understanding as we shuffle carefully down the steps or laugh after a near-miss. It’s one of those small, enduring experiences that connects us, year after year.
If the landmarks and traditions keep us grounded, the people are what make this place transformative. Since 1967, suites in Hinton James and beyond have brought students together, forming bonds that last a lifetime. My closest friendships are those that began in HoJo.
It’s impossible to describe the feeling of those early days — playing "We’re Not Really Strangers," running up and down HoJo stairs during real-life Among Us and the unspoken understanding that we were all figuring this out together.
And then there are the little moments that remind me of how special this place is. One afternoon, my friends and I were eating lunch outside Lenoir. Two of them, in a songwriting class, whipped out a guitar and started practicing for their final. It wasn’t planned, but it didn’t need to be. Slowly, more and more of our friends happened to walk by, drawn in by the music and the unexpected scene. They stopped, laughed and joined us, turning an ordinary lunch into something so wholesome — one of those moments that felt like it belonged to a bigger story, one that’s been unfolding long before we arrived and will continue long after we’ve gone.
