There were two things I was absolutely sure of when I applied to college: I did not want to move to the South, and under no circumstances did I want to go to a school with a religious affiliation. Begrudgingly, I did both. It was one of the best choices I ever (had to) make.

I applied to the college I ended up attending as a favor — to be cooperative with my dad and his wife, who noticed it in one of those gigantic, 30 lb college directories and thought it sounded like a place where I would fit in. Small, creative, committed to social justice, very quirky, spiritual, and welcoming. Sounds like a pretty nice place, right? Totally. Except that at 17, I couldn’t see past the facts that I would be:

1. Living in a (very) small city in North Carolina. I’m from Philadelphia. I left home at 17 to travel in Mexico and move to San Francisco for work with a fringe-y arts organization during the year in between high school and college. At the time, my heart belonged to big cities, eccentric people, and just about anything you couldn’t squeeze into the box of ‘normal.’ There was no way that relocating below the Mason-Dixon line made sense in the narrative arc of what I imagined would be my life. I could not see myself listening to old school country music, saying “y’all,” or establishing deeply significant friendships with multiple people from Alabama. My biases were bigger than Dolly Parton’s…hair.
2. Somewhere Christian. Which I was not. At all. Aside from Christmas trees and stocking stuffers at least. To me, Christianity plus the South meant it was bound to be conservative, narrow-minded, and probably not at all fun. I had been raised with a big dose of skepticism towards organized religion, and it was hard to imagine a scenario where this could possibly go well. I wasn’t factoring in that it was a Quaker school — a pacifist branch of Christianity with a major leaning towards social justice, non-hierarchical structures, and contemplative practice. I just saw the big C-word and felt scared that I would wind up in intolerance central. How would a cynical, foul-mouthed, former punk with a Hindu spiritual practice like me survive, let alone make friends and build community? These people definitely would not like me. I’d spent most of my adolescence feeling like an outsider and I was in no mood to sign up for four more years of the same.

Turns out I was wrong. My judgement had been clouded with prejudice, other people’s baggage, and a pretty significant lack of real information. This left me magnificently, brilliantly, full-tilt-boogie mistaken.

I’ll be the first to admit, some of this confusion could have been avoided. I graduated high school at the end of my junior year and hightailed it 3,000 miles away from home immediately after submitting my college applications, having only visited two colleges. With a massive independent streak and parents going through a volatile divorce, I hadn’t gotten much help in the application process. I didn’t like listening to most adults, and I was very sure of what I wanted.

In many ways, I was flying blind. But, with a financial aid package I couldn’t refuse, I swallowed my stereotypes and made my way south on I-85. It wasn’t what I had expected, but it wasn’t not what I had expected either.

Some parts of my story checked out: It was 2002 and the economy in North Carolina was not awesome — there weren’t many places to go, and it felt tame compared to the (probably a bit too adult) life I had been living before arriving on campus. It was culturally different, sometimes in ways that were unsettling. There was racism, and sexism, and a whole lot more that played out in ways I hadn’t experienced before — especially when venturing off-campus.

At first I struggled to find friends who really ‘got’ me. The school had offered a pre-orientation welcome week that I hadn’t found out about until it was too late and too expensive for me to participate. By the time I arrived, it felt like everyone had already made friends and spent a week bonding together. The feeling of being an outsider stuck around even as I began to make friends, explore college life, and put down tenuous roots.

‘I don’t belong here’ was an idea that dogged me and wouldn’t let go for a long time. When it comes down to it, that was at the root of what I meant in not wanting to go to the South or somewhere religious. I didn’t want to go somewhere I wasn’t welcome, and all of the stereotypes I’d learned told me that this had a high probability of being that kind of place. I wanted to feel seen, included, and in community with people who understood and valued me. It took me months to realize that I was in fact, surrounded by exactly that.

At the start of my spring semester, I made a secret deal with myself: Give it a shot, forget about your intended major for now, and just try a bunch of classes you think sound interesting. If you’re still unhappy, then you can transfer.

It turns out the majority of classes that I thought might be the most interesting were in the Religious Studies department, which became one of my majors. That irony is not lost on me. When I let go of what I thought I should be doing, I discovered that there was so much more I was interested in. My classes were fascinating. I loved the feeling of community within my department, and my professors and classmates were smart, welcoming, and fun. It was nothing like what I thought it would be.

I surprised myself again and again. Later, I even took a class on the New Testament, despite having successfully avoided contact with the bible for my entire life up until that moment. It turns out my own spirituality and hunger to learn was big enough to welcome a much broader diversity of faiths, experiences, and practices than I had ever realized. Since then, I have worked closely on projects with the Muslim community in the San Francisco Bay Area, managed a Buddhist meditation center, and been inspired and guided by leaders of many different faiths — including a whole bunch of Christian folks. This part of my life has become my strongest foundation.

It also turns out I was just weeks away from meeting the group of friends who would quickly become my chosen family. Over the next few months, a whole crew of us fell in deep, extreme friend-love with each other. There was no turning back. We knew we had found kindred spirits — the near constant laughter, heartfelt conversations til dawn, and gleeful dance parties proved it.

After graduation, I stuck around North Carolina for a couple more years. I accidentally developed a slight southern twang, learned to make decent biscuits, and made peace with my deep and abiding love for Dolly Parton. My friends and I launched our adult lives together, living in a big, brick, former halfway house with an epic front porch. Nine bedrooms, ten or so friends, a couple dogs, and someone’s pet crawfish that periodically escaped to hide under the living room couch. We laughed, danced, made art, threw parties, cooked giant dinners and supported each other through just about everything. More than a decade since graduation, we have an impressive history of annual family vacations, road trips, shared homes, weddings, and baby showers as evidence of one very important fact: we really, really, really like each other.

Eventually, I did leave. I packed up my things in a friend’s car (the one who I am enthusiastically squeezing in the top photo, actually), and three of us drove cross country to move to San Francisco. I adore my life here and the communities that I’m a part of, but I wouldn’t trade in those years at the college I absolutely didn’t want to go to for anything.

Juliana Sloane received her BA in Religious Studies and Women’s Studies from Guilford College, and her MA in Gender Studies from Central European University. Juliana has more than 10 years of experience supporting nonprofits that build compassionate communities, stand for underserved students, and help people of all ages transform from the inside-out. As ScholarMatch’s Development Director, she is proud to help the organization grow and thrive.

#MyCollegeStory is a ScholarMatch original series highlighting the diverse and varied journeys to and through higher education. Check back each month for new stories!

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