Editor's Note, 7/1/13

Growing up in the suburbs of South Florida, public transportation opportunities were slim to none. It’s the nature of the sprawl. Interesting places are separated by long expanses of highway, and my public high school took kids from all over Broward County, so my friends were never within walking distance of me or each other. My modest social life depended on the always precarious task of “getting a ride.” But do not pity me—I made it through and wound up somewhat well-adjusted regardless, and the summer before college eventually reached its end.

I got to Duke, and it was a slap in the face in the best way possible. My friends were within the closest proximity I have ever known, in rooms down the hall in Giles. They were also a short walk past Lilly, enjoying live jazz in the Pegram common room; they were also texting me to come to the show at the Coffeehouse (if I was not already there). The Nexus was screening Casablanca on Central, a C-2 bus ride away. Just half a minute on a C-1 got me up close and personal with an actual Picasso at the Nasher, or a few borrowed hours of peace and watercolor at the Arts Annex on a quiet afternoon. All the way from the steps outside Marketplace, I could hear the bass pounding for my friend’s African dance class in the Ark Dance Studio. From the moment I moved in, I was entirely immersed in a buzzing energy, and this was all without stepping a foot off-campus.

Later in the semester, I ventured past the short cobblestone wall. I walked with my faculties-in-residence to a Duke Performance at Casbah. I peeked into charming photo galleries, savored life-changing sandwiches and caught films at the Carolina Theatre with free rides downtown on the Bull City Connector. With the swipe of a GoPass, the Robertson Bus took me from West Campus to that other school down the road (and for the record, they have a pretty cool art museum, too). The new Bridge Bus service brought me back and forth to thriving downtown Raleigh for a price much cheaper than any cab. And with my honed skills in carpooling, I managed to drag my friends across the state for concerts we’ll never forget.

It has meant a great deal to me to find this level of independence—to walk down 9th Street, browse a record store and drink an iced coffee alone; it has meant even more to grab lunch and good conversation with friends who I may spontaneously run into on the Bryan Center plaza. It has been just a year so far, but I already see in this newfound expansion of choice where I will grow most as a person, as a friend, as a student and as a consumer and creator of art.

Duke University is internationally renowned for top-quality academics, championship athletics and tremendous advances in scientific research. I knew this reputation when I chose to come here, if not from the admissions pamphlets then from my own Google searches. But what I did not, what I could not have seen coming was the overwhelming artfulness of the city surrounding it—curated under the glass top tables at Cocoa Cinnamon, in the performances at each local venue, on the shelves of the vendors at the farmers market.

So I’m home for the summer now and, while marinating in my childhood bedroom, I reflect on how I relate to Duke and Durham, and how they relate to each other. I realize that the most vital element of all is accessibility. In my classes, I have had professors and peers with whom I could speak openly and passionately. Outside of the classroom, I was welcomed into Chronicle and WXDU families with open arms. And the city itself has been inviting in more ways than I can express in my first editor’s note with any sort of brevity. My first year at Duke has been, inseparably, my first year living in North Carolina; my second will be a chance to dive a little deeper.