I once wanted nothing more than to leave this place behind. I’ve lived in Chapel Hill for 20 years, grown tired of and frustrated by it, and I trusted entirely that a change in environment would be the solution to my cyclical despondency. Since my first day on this campus as a student, I’d kept the idea of transferring at bay, but finally, I was ready to actually do it.
The spring of my first year I spent abroad in Limerick, Ireland. It was the longest I had ever been away from home, and the experience was gratifying insofar as it confirmed my belief that I’d be happier anywhere but Chapel Hill. Entering the fall semester, I registered myself for an ACT test (I was sure I needed to lift my score of 31 to be competitive), submitted an application to Honors Carolina (again, to be “competitive”) and secured a letter of recommendation from my marketing professor back in Ireland.
The point is, I’ve worked diligently to escape Chapel Hill and all it represents. But the deadline to submit my application for transfer is a week away — and I’ve decided not to submit it.
Chapel Hill isn’t to blame for my misery. It was one of those clichéd “it’s not you, it’s me” moments. My childhood cynicism, coupled with a disdain for happy people, led me to believe that UNC was some pocket of evil, that everyone here was out to get me. And I wondered why I didn’t make many friends.
It didn’t help that I went to Chapel Hill High School. Every day, to get to school, my younger brother and I drove past the pompous Lake Hogan Farms, the HOA community where our richest, snobbiest classmates dwelled. I scoffed at the irony of these peers — steadfast in their liberal values yet, in my mind, utterly oblivious to the real world. The sporty kids were insolent and the artsy ones were insufferable.
Coming to UNC, I was met with more of the same. My generalizations carried over, and I soon hated this batch of people. I would never even consider going out to party, because that’s what empty-headed people do. And I couldn’t chase my dreams here; surely, nobody else enjoyed making music as much as I did, so why would I bother looking?
Last semester, I took Psychology 101: General Psychology and went to office hours to air my concerns and find some confirmation of how I felt. But I didn’t get what I wanted. On that rainy day, I left my professor’s office with something I mulled over for a long time.
“Are you chasing something, or running away from something else?”
It wasn’t the “Good Will Hunting” response I’d hoped for. The thing is, life is what you make it. I realized that, rather than running away from this place I’ve come to resent, I should challenge myself to embrace it. And ever since I took on that perspective I’ve been much more appreciative of Chapel Hill.
