A Beautiful Shade of Blue

I'll never forget opening the letter. I read the first line probably twelve times before I began to scream with both pride and shame (the reason for shame later). I had applied to so many universities, but I had no clue where I wanted to go. I could not fathom what my life would be like come August of 2008. I thought I wanted to go out of state. I thought I would want to go to a tiny school. I thought I wanted to be a pediatrician (thank you, Dr. Hogan for ruining that dream with Biology 101). Or was it a journalist at the time-- I can't remember.   "Maybe going out of state would allow me to grow," I thought. But nothing could have made me happier than opening the letter saying that I had been accepted into Carolina. 

It sounded strange to my family. They wondered what had happened to this girl who had grown up being told that Carolina was poisonous, smelled bad and was slowly causing the demise of the world with every student that attended.  Of course, basketball was the biggest issue. That's right, believe or not, my parents raised me to be a Blue Devil. I know. Go ahead. Throw up. It is a terrible thing and has taken a lot of therapy to get over. I don't know what seemed so attractive about Carolina when I visited after being accepted to attend in the fall. Maybe it was the nice, friendly people? Maybe it was the beautiful blue sky that enveloped the campus and made it seem the way I still refer to it now: Heaven on Earth? Either way, it was mine.

But I'm not going to lie. Not all of being a Carolina student has been sunshine and butterflies. The classes are more difficult than I could have imagined and sometimes, as I sit in Davis Library looking out over the university on the 6th floor, I think to myself, "Maybe you should have gone to an easier school. One with less expectations. One with less tests...or maybe no tests at all? Maybe you should've gone to clown school because you can juggle pretty well." 

And I'm not going to lie, sophomore year I definitely considered transferring. But I'm so glad that I didn't, because I am a Carolina student. I am a senior at Carolina. 
 

Now here in New York, people instantly assume I am from the south. I believe, though I am still uncertain, that it may be the "Hey Y'all" that comes out of my mouth whenever someone enters Haagen Dazs or maybe it is the blonde hair and constant smile, because everyone in the city seems to have adopted the brunette look and/ or serious approach to life (but New Yorkers are nice--a post for another day). Either way, as I've said before, they want to know where I am from. 

"Are you from Georgia?" they ask. No, I am not a Southern Peach. 

"Are you from Alabama?" No, I do not eat alligators or anything cajun. 

I am from North Carolina. Home to the beach and the mountains and of course, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, often referred to as "Heaven. On Earth." (Except, of course, by my dad who seems to have come up with a name for the place that I'm not old enough to say.)

Recently, I purchased a book from Strand Book Store called I totally Meant to do That by Jane Borden. The book was brought to my attention by a woman I babysit for, May, and Jane is one of her friend's sisters. Jane is also a writing for Saturday Night Live and she and I oddly have a lot in common, including, but not limited to:

(1) She and I had both lived in Greensboro previously (that was before Kinston)
(2) We both had "golden retriever" personalities-- meaning we enjoy people.
(3) We love to talk to strangers and we're incredibly too trusting in the city
(4) We both were Greek for a while at our university (she a tri-delt, I a Phi Mu)
(5) We both loved UNC-CH and can respect both the north and the south
(6) We both understand how coming from the south to NYC can make you feel as if you are the diversity 


Now this makes me laugh: 

Now back to the university. So last night I'm working in Haagen Dazs, minding my own business, and someone said it again. Shaking their head, they look at me and said, "Oh, boy. A real, live southerner." 


What? I swear. I don't even have to open my mouth. I think I have a sticker on my forehead. I was told today at my internship that it may be the way I dress. Or it could be the overwhelming accent that has earned me the nickname "Country Pam". 


Anyways, no matter who I talk to about North Carolina, SOMEONE seems to have a relative from the state. 

"My aunt's dad's sister used to live in North Carolina. They say its beautiful down there." 

 Oh, ok.... neat. 


But the Tar Heels, now they are well known. As soon as they ask where I go to school, its like my chest becomes overwhelmed with pride. Not just about basketball, but also about academics. Some say they were really thinking about going there, but then couldn't make the move to the dirty south. Others say that there was nothing to do. (WHAT?) They ask about the rivalry and how I deal, in which I reply that we hiss at them when they walk by or simply smile at them because we know they don't know how with all of the dark and evil happenings at the university 8 miles from us. 

I am proud of my school. And I am so lucky to go to a school that has challenged me and introduced me to great, smiling, people who have also challenged me to be better everyday.  So today I proudly wore my favorite UNC-CH shirt around the city and had a few people even shout, "Go Tar Heels!"

I love UNC. I love the quad in spring and the arboretum in the fall. I love the Pit on a sunny day and Graham Memorial Lounge on a rainy one. I love Roy all the time. But what makes UNC truly special is not our beautiful campus, our distinguished reputation or even our basketball team. It's us - the student body - who make UNC what it is.

Eve Marie Carson, Nov. 19, 1985-March 5, 2008

So here's to senior year. And here's to being a Tar Heel. (Sorry Dad.)

Lastly, here's the next three weeks of being a Tar Heel in the city.


Peace. Love. NYC.
Carrie