The University of Georgia was my last choice.
Like, way at the bottom of the list. I had no desire to attend a university in the South. In fact, I really only applied to The University of Georgia to appease my parent’s wishes.
I wanted to head north.
The 17th-century brick buildings, tree-lined quads, and riding boots as far as the eye could see, attracted me to schools that rhymed with Drown and Carnard. Of the 12 or so colleges that I applied to, only two were in Georgia: The University Of and another not-to-be-named college that had such an easy application, my mother filled it out.
I envisioned myself going to a top liberal arts college or university, far away from my southern roots. I saw myself spending my spring break at my friend’s house on The Cape and texting with a Kennedy or two.
I did not see myself sweating from August-October, as I took English classes with kids who grew up on farms and spoke with romantic southern accents. I did not even fathom attending a football game with 92,746 fans screaming in my face.
But, I did.
Featured image by Noémie Marguerite.