The leaves on the trees in Chapel Hill have faded away, shifting from the rich hues of golden yellow and deep maroon suspended in midair to a grounded mass of crunching brown. This aging is symbolic, signifying the passing of time by which we mature and learn at this University.
This autumn, this romanticism of our development has come to a close, and now gives way to winter. Yet another semester comes to an end, and at its finale, we find ourselves further aged, enlightened and matured. Geared with the rewards of a fruitful education, we wave a temporary goodbye to these grounds.
As I sat drinking coffee on my back porch this weekend, ignoring my massive pre-finals workload, I powered through Ernest Hemingway’s classic, “The Sun Also Rises.” In it, protagonist Jake Barnes narrates the adventures of himself and his circle of expatriate friends as they eat and drink their way through France and Spain.
While his character is painted as a depressive curmudgeon of sorts, he has another romantic side that causes him to sentimentalize the settings around him, from the countryside to city bars.
As I wound my way through the book, his affections for Paris, Bayonne and Pamplona connected with me, though not in a geographical way. The appreciation he exhibited for these places, though none were his home, is what brings me to the “nut” of this writing — the realization of my own affections for Chapel Hill.
I myself am a big city kind of guy; I was born in Pittsburgh and frequently return to explore and visit family. From there I went to Charlotte, where I ran amok among the diners and arts districts of the city as soon as the weekend came. With this adventurous spirit, I had my heart set on attending a school that would offer me the same opportunity: an urban landscape of eclectic haunts — yet I ended up at Chapel Hill.
At first this disappointed me, and for the first few weeks of the semester, I found myself grudgingly wishing that I could transfer. Secretly, though, I began to grow fond of the campus, and by the time fall break rolled around, I felt sore about leaving it without knowing exactly why. When the feeling returned this past break, however, Hemingway’s prose brought me to a “light-bulb” epiphany.
With Hemingway’s prosaic inspiration, I realized just how I’ll miss UNC when I leave for home in December. I’m going to miss observing the picturesque expanse of Polk Place, with leaves laconically blowing between the students sitting on its grassy sprawl. I’ll miss navigating old brick buildings, the hum of activity on Franklin Street and the battle for sonic supremacy between harmonious a cappella and the ranting delusions of old Gary. I’ll also miss the new friends, acquaintances and peers I’ve been lucky to accrue already in the short time I’ve been here. These aren’t the effects of a bustling city, but they’ve grown to become nearly as meaningful to me.
As we come to college we enter a transitory period in which we begin to leave the nest. I feel that I haven’t really found myself soaring from this origin to an open sky — instead, I’ve transitioned to a new nest, even if just a temporary one.
This feeling evolved from a near non-existent amount of appreciation, and reading Hemingway this weekend, I realized how much the campus means to me, just as Paris and Pamplona hold a homey place in the heart of Jake Barnes.
I’ll be lucky enough to come back here in the spring, and this saving grace is keeping me from becoming overly sentimental.
But to those who may not return to this campus for whatever reason, I hope that you may find your own romanticism of whatever setting you end up in, and that you, like I have, may learn how to appreciate and understand what it means to have been, for at least some segment of time, a part of UNC.
Contact the desk editor at diversions@dailytarheel.com.
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