Taking great inspiration from my good friend Patrick Andres’ graduation column two years ago, I’d like to tell you about a place. But first, I need to tell you about a drive.
The clock had just passed midnight outside of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, and I was humming south along I-151. The headlights of my Hyundai served as the only source of light illuminating an otherwise flat and dark landscape. I had been warned by my editors to remain vigilant of the animals that roam the highways and backroads across rural Wisconsin, but, being the proud North Carolinian I am and believing myself to be well-versed in how to maneuver around any late-night two-eyed obstructions, I brushed off their warnings.
Lo and behold, a mere two minutes after merging onto the highway, a fox or coyote (I know, I apologize for not knowing which little carnivorous fur ball decided to test my reaction time) darted in front of my car. Brakes were slammed, my body tensed and there was a brief pause before I pressed my foot against the accelerator.
As I white knuckled my way back to Madison, capping yet another night flying solo on my JR, I remember longing for one thing: to have shared that experience with someone else.
Admittedly, it’s a bit of an odd thought. Why would I want to share this startling event with another person? But all I could think about was how I missed the companionship that The Daily afforded me during other sports coverage-related road trips.
My car, at that moment, with each passing tire rotation inching me closer to my destination, felt emptier than usual. I wanted and wished it was full of the laughter, conversation and, most of all, the people I’d come to so deeply appreciate.
And I almost never got to experience those road trips.
My freshman year experience of self-induced isolation sucked. I certainly don’t believe my experience to have been unique either. Matter of fact, it makes sense that the combination of a global pandemic, somewhat crippling introversion and acclimating to a new environment would result in the seclusion I subjected myself to. Heading into my sophomore year, aided by some sage advice from my parents, I knew I needed to find an outlet on campus to cover Northwestern sports.
I joined The Daily, spurning the invitation of Chili’s provided by InsideNU, under the encouragement of Lawrence Price. What followed was a 2.5-year roller-coaster of emotions and sports coverage, highlighted by many late nights spent writing and rewriting on the third floor of Norris.
But to truly capture my experience at The Daily is to tell you about the car rides.
To tell you in great detail about the nostalgic music playlist that boomed from the bluetooth speakers in the car on nearly every trip with Lawrence, Aayushya Agarwal and Angeli Mittal. To tell you about the heel click celebrations in Madison, the combative cop in Bloomington, Indiana, the World’s Largest Truckstop in Walcott, Iowa, the hot tub and Mall of America in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and the snowy detour to Outback Steakhouse in West Lafayette, Indiana. To tell you about the places we went, but also the sanctuary the people on those trips provided.
It was work, and there were days where it was especially taxing. It was also a welcomed respite from the rapidity of this school’s quarter system.
Writing can be a lonely enterprise. I became privy to that reality over the winter. Amid the solitude, however, I found a quote from Stephen King that has stuck with me. Acknowledging how solitary of an act it can be, he said: “Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a difference. They don’t have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough.”
In the end, I found that belief and support in the people I shared the finest four-wheeled, four-doored, Enterprise-rented vehicles with — shoutout to Lawrence, Aayushya, Angeli, Patrick, Jake Epstein, Charlotte Varnes, John Riker and more.
The Daily taught me a lot, and I’m sure one day I might very well miss those late Norris nights. But I know for certain I’m going to miss traversing the Midwest with my friends.
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