Lines of life

Some days -- most days, actually -- I find it almost impossible to believe that this time 4 years ago, I had never set foot in this town, on this campus. I was adding more and more colleges to my Common App, hoping that somehow, out of thin air, a name might jump out. One place might mean more than the others, simply through a brochure or a college fair. One visit might knock me off my feet. I wanted the right college, of course. But looking back at the long process, recalling how my words upon words upon words tried to sum up why I would be a good fit for every single one of the eleven (yes, eleven) institutions on my list, I don't think that I was ever truly expecting to find a home.

A place to learn, definitely.

A place with cool people who liked me, hopefully.

A place where I could exist rather contentedly on a daily basis for four years till I got that diploma in my hands -- yes, please.

But a home? History, inside jokes, quirks (the good and the bad and the hilarious and the random), struggling together and laughing together -- and family, real family, sharing a DNA forged through experience, family regardless of year or location or generation?

Whoa.

How does something like that happen?

My dear friend Rachel Hope '09 wrote me this summer, only a month out from her graduation, about Home. And she said it in a way I'd never thought of, but a way I loved.

I realized the last few weeks I was at Davidson how much that place had really become my home and how sad I was to leave it. But it's a different type of home in Atlanta since I was born there -- it didn't have to earn that title “home” ... it just was. I remember this passage from Les Miserables when Hugo describes how when we sentimentalize about a place we call home, we imagine we actually walked in every building we see, and had some distinct memory of every leaf, and plant and all that. When I read that, it reminded me so much of how I imagine Atlanta, especially since leaving it to go to college. But Davidson is so different...I actually do have a memory for every tree and building and all that -- it earned the title of “home” and that seems to make it all the sweeter ... and all the harder to leave.

Davidson earned home. I arrived knowing no one, having no ties of significance. Three years and eight months later -- I feel like it's been about twenty years. (In a good way!)

It's because of you, friends, alums, community members, faculty, staff -- family -- and how you've brought me in and welcomed me and kept me close and supported me to do the things I love. Because of you that I introduced myself at my out of town summer internship as being from both Atlanta and Davidson. Equals, but one born into and one born from the heart.

Davidson basketball, for me, has been as Michael says, “an entry point” -- and an unexpected one at that. A point where I've seen this family come together in an incredibly full, tangible way, become even more of a family, and pull me into the story of this place, allowing me to carve my own piece of it along the way. My basketball stories are not simply, solely basketball stories; what make them worth recalling, worth putting on paper, are the people. YOU, coaches and players and fans that underneath whatever category are all Davidson. The moments, the lines of life that run through and don't stop, even when buzzers sound and games are lost and won.

That's what we want to share through this project. That's why we want to hear you.