The Beauty of Belonging

I went home to Hollins this week, twice actually.   On Tuesday I visited on my own.  I had some time before an appointment, so I left early and went for a walk around the campus loop. On Saturday I returned with my family because Kemper wanted to walk around, and we happily obliged him to return to the place where our relationship began.  Kemper stopped at a campus map and asked me to show him the buildings where I had classes and the places where I lived.  He said it seemed like they were far apart, and he was surprised we did all that walking.  I had to laugh because with the exception of my life here, it was the only place where I could get up five minutes before I had to be somewhere and still arrived on time.

Twenty years ago (twenty?!) Hollins was a haven.  It felt like a little bubble of a sanctuary in the middle of a city.  When you drove up the hill and around the curve, the noise of the neighborhood fell away—we were out of mind and out sight.  I idealized the notion that when you drove through “the gate” (there is no gate) you were just a Hollins woman…all that needed to define you was your physical presence and whether you were in Lily Pulitzer and pearls or sporting Birkenstocks while smelling like Patchouli you were Hollins.  I honestly cannot imagine a more eclectic group of women than those milling around that campus in the early 2000s.  Sculptors, dancers, writers, business majors, psychology majors, scientists, and historians.  But it would be a lie to say we lived harmoniously all the time.  We were as segregated as anywhere else in America. If you divided the campus into quadrants, the upper crust had one corner, the bohemians another, the international students were a small sliver and the black students perhaps even more underrepresented.  But, in the end, I like to think we were all hyper aware that we were 800 women working in tandem to break the glass ceiling.

The campus was quiet this week.  I only saw a handful of students on each visit.  I walked the loop amazed at the new apartment houses that were constructed a few years ago and shook my head in disbelief at how lucky “these girls” have it. But I wouldn’t have traded my asbestos ridden freshman dorm for anything in the world.  As I took in the view of Tinker Mountain, and the white fences lining rolling hills, I had to wonder if I ever really appreciated the beauty of the place when I was living in it.  Isn’t that always the way?  While the young women I saw were still eclectic in the ways they chose to assert their personalities through physical accoutrements, I noticed something almost all of them had in common.  For the most part, they were running or walking the loop or quad alone, and they all had on earphones.  Truly, I only saw one group of women who were chatting together as they walked, seemingly returning to campus after an outing together.  This made me sad in a profound way.  Because the one thing I cannot fathom (although I know some people would feel this deeply) is being alone at Hollins.  We may have listened to our iPods sometimes, but more often than not, we were blasting our music through our computer speakers or the jukebox in the cafeteria for all to hear and share in the fun. Apart from walking to (some) classes alone, we moved in packs years before the era of Taylor Swift’s girl squad.  We walked to meals as first-year students as a hall…a gaggle of 20 girls winding their way across the back quad to the dining hall, where we would sometimes shut the place down…sitting at the table together for so long we went back for second dinner.  My memories of taking classes together, sitting on porch steps together, solving the problems of the world together, are some of my most treasured experiences. 

In addition to my awareness that so many of these ladies were seemingly in their own little world, drowning out the sounds of nature and conversation with earbuds and walking alone with their heads down, faces in a phone; the other thing I was acutely aware of was that I was a visitor in a place I had once called home.  Hollins is an open campus, the library is used by the public, people often park and walk the loop around the perimeter of campus for exercise, Hollins hosts many events that are open to the community at large.  But something about covid and the state of the world has altered that.  Hollins administrators have been incredibly cautious about protecting students in the pandemic, which I greatly appreciate! But, it doesn’t feel like I can roam the quad the way that I once did or enter the library for a quiet place to work.  I was also hyper aware of the fact that for all our young, fanciful thinking, Hollins is not actually a snow-globe filled with glitter…but that bad people could burst the bubble as easily as the good.  Seeing a stranger, especially a male, no longer makes me feel just cautious, but a little afraid.  Who knows if they have a hidden agenda. Twenty years ago, I had no qualms about Michael leaving my dorm to walk across the quad to see our friends in another building without an escort.  There were enough people who recognized him along the way that he didn’t seem to pose a threat. Boys at Hollins were like unicorns…there were usually only a few, they were mysterious, and everyone stared at them. But on this visit, I was hypersensitive, even with no one else in sight, that I didn’t want Michael or Kemper to get too far away from me.  Taking them into the chapel to use the restroom felt like an invasion. Even while Michael made jokes that he didn’t want to get near the security office, because they might come after him with all his unpaid campus parking tickets! I was very aware that I was now a stranger there too and I tried my best to blend in and be non-threatening while sporting my Hollins hat and tennis shoes. 

Why do I say all of this?  It’s a reflection on space and community.  It is a reflection on the beauty of place and the beauty of belonging.  I was fortunate to have both in my time at Hollins.  I don’t want to forget.  And I want to shake these young women and say, “Don’t fritter it away. This is sacred ground.  This is holy space.  This is where you find your people! This is beauty. This is home.”   

Do you have a sanctuary like this?  Do you have a place that gives definition to a particular season in your life?  Do you ever revisit it? Is it still a part of your daily experience?  What is it like to return somewhere after being away?