Perhaps one of the most overlooked aspects of elementary school is self-discovery. Yes, you read that right. Elementary school—a time when Kid Pix was our first foray into artistic expression and recess was still a thing—was when my first thoughts about who I was began to emerge. On the first day of class, we all got that handout where we proudly wrote our names and perhaps our favorite show or book in nascent English. But there was one question I remember answering all those years ago that is as relevant today as it was when I was still grasping polysyllabic language:
Write something about yourself that we otherwise wouldn’t know.
As a kid, I probably would’ve written that I was the only boy in my family or that I spoke two languages. While neither of those things are true anymore (our family has since expanded to two sons and two languages became four) there is one descriptor that I don’t think will ever change:
I am different.
I transferred to Duke as an incoming sophomore. Yep, I am one of those 25 I-think-they-exist-but-I’ve-never-actually-met-them students who somehow made it past the gatekeepers and successfully transitioned to the Wonderland of pointed arches and ribbed vaults that is Duke University. I managed to hit the ground running upon enrolling, and I gotta say, Duke is pretty awesome. Your campus blows my old one out of the water, and the student life is killer.
There is also another thing I want to share:
I am a conservative.
Considering I transferred from Liberty University, this might make sense. For the unenlightened, LU is the proudly Southern Baptist, staunchly Republican labor of love of the late Dr. Jerry Falwell, who rose to prominence as the spokesperson of the Moral Majority. As controversial as he was committed, Falwell quickly became one of the most polarizing figures of the 1980s—celebrated by conservatives, lambasted by leftists.
I cannot say much more about Dr. Falwell, other than that I loved the school he left behind for me and thousands of other students who sought to combine their love of Christ with their love of learning. Liberty was an idyllic little place, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains in Lynchburg, Virginia, but after a semester there, I realized it was not right for me.
Liberty is, admittedly, a bubble, a bastion of right-wing politics and traditional conservatism. While I am a registered Republican and consider myself a devout Christian, I wanted something more. I wanted diversity, and challenge. I wanted to have my opinions refuted by others who were just as knowledgeable about social issues as I believed myself to be. I wanted the traditional college experience, where my intellect was sharpened rather than nestled, and where I could discover myself in ways I never thought I could.
Duke is that place. I am no longer a Flame, but a Blue Devil. Well, prospective anyways. And while I am still discovering what that actually means, I think I have a pretty good idea.
A Blue Devil knows what Krzyzewskiville is. Most have seen the Plaza before it was overtaken by construction (I, sadly, have not yet been afforded that luxury). A Blue Devil spells crazy as ‘crazie’ on purpose. A Blue Devil knows how to work hard and play hard, combining the benefits of an elite education with the pleasures of an active social life. Blue Devils want to change the world around them, stopping at nothing to benefit others someway, somehow.
If I’m right, I might have the honor of calling myself a Blue Devil someday, and look back at my alma mater with pride and fond memories.
I want to invite the Duke community on my journey. In my column in The Chronicle (shamelessly titled “The right guy”) I’ll share my thoughts on a number of issues, whether they be political or personal in nature. And while my journey might be described as the antithesis of Kevin Roose’s The Unlikely Disciple, I trust that it will be unique. I am living a life apart from what I suspect is the majority of the Duke student body, one where my spirituality is just as important as my individuality, and my desire to grow in my relationship with Jesus is just as crucial to me as finding a professor who will invite me to conduct research with him.
To end this first epistle, I want to insist that I am still discovering myself. No, my journey towards self-discovery did not end with my wobbly penmanship in Ms. Bunting’s fourth grade class, and I suspect it never will.
And I’m thankful for that.
Paul Popa is a Trinity junior. His column will run biweekly in the fall.
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