Dear Class of 2016, Some of you reading this column are already in love with college, Grounds and all things U.Va.
Much to the dismay of my father and grandfather, I don’t know a whole lot about football. If I did, you’d probably be reading about this in the sports section.
I was in Europe this summer. I could tell you what I learned at the Tate Modern, what I realized in Normandy, what I came to understand on the Underground.
This year at the University has had a bit of a different feel for me. I am entering my fourth year, forgive me for being sentimental, but I have a lot of feelings about it.
It’s unfortunately easy to lose faith in humanity. Everything’s going alright for a while until, suddenly, one event begins a downward spiral that usually ends with me hating everyone and everything.
When I was 14-years-old I decided to put “flying in large treacherous metal machines at 30,000 feet” at the top of my “greatest fears” list.
Although I always claimed to understand how great this college town is, I never really understood until I went to a place where most people associate 14th Street with the Union Square subway station. While I was away, I learned not only about New York, the magazine industry, and myself; I also learned a lot about Charlottesville.
