we can feel deeply rooted in a place, and we can outgrow it
Terry Hall has been my home for the past four years. When people learn that I’ve lived in residential life this long— better yet have sought it out— I am met with lackluster responses and various remarks of “I could never do that.” What I’ve learned through this, though, at such a pivotal point in my becoming-20s– is that there is beauty in the paradox of staying in the same place but not being the same person. Each year, I have been fortunate to return to the same home, sense of familiarly, systems and general census of students. And each year, I have left anew; inevitably impacted by growth and change that shifted the lens in which I perceived my space.
My first year in Terry Hall could be defined by my unyielding, inevitable, and inextricable curiosity. Whether by choice or by the inherent nature of being willfully uprooted into a new place, curiosity guided my every move as I tried to make sense of life in Seattle, living with a new person in a small shared space, grappling with agency and independence, and attempting to explore what experiences, people, and ways of thinking would get me closer towards myself. This year welcomed countless adventures (some successful and some that ended in a “we are never doing that again”) and late-night conversations between my roommate Sam and I as we’d lay on the floor, stare up at the ceiling, and discuss the things that felt important to two young women alone together– from family dynamics to relationship goals, personal pursuits and the pressure of expectations, and what it is to try and become someone you don’t know quite yet.
These inaugural quarters were fueled by the newness of everything– every building I stepped into for classes, every experience that would lay the groundwork for years to come, every connection with an Honors peer that was the start of my sense of community. But slowly, naturally, and with the willpower to start greeting newness rather than waiting for it to happen, Terry became a space I could enter with confidence. It welcomed me home after a weekend trip when I became an Honors Peer Educator, and it consoled me when I learned I had been rejected from the Residential Adviser position the first time I applied.
my side of the room!
sam's side of the room!
bathroom!
my side of the room!
Retrospectively, my first year felt like positive existentialism. It was a year of figuring out what worked for me and what didn’t– from studying to friendship to self-care– and grappling with what comes next. The first year of college was both pivotal in terms of getting started, but it was also quite insignificant when it came to finding space within the university– it took me a while to dip my toes in the water of the many opportunities available, reckon with how it felt, and then do something about it. More often than not, dipping my toes in the water was the extent of my willingness to go all-in that year, and I’m glad. My hesitance to commit before feeling things out enabled me to make decisions I felt more satisfied with in the long-run.
When I moved back to Terry my second year, it didn’t feel as foreign. It was odd to come back to Seattle and know what it had in store. My second year could be defined by willpower, rejection, and redirection. It was this year in which Terry Hall overheard my lesson planning as I prepared for teaching my Honors section for the first time, it was this year in which I reworked my RA application and felt even more determined to apply, and it was this year in which I got rejected from a position that felt like it was made for me. I had spent so much of my first year simply figuring things out, so my second year was grounded in the tangible application of not just trying, but doing.
My second year was my first year officially in my majors. Terry Hall bore witness to my zealous studying for physiology and statistics, as well as my exploration of education in preparation for the newest Education Studies branch, where I was going to be a part of the inaugural cohort of students. While my academics really honed in and started coming together, experiential learning also showed up. I taught as an Honors Peer Educator for the first time and found myself very intertwined within my PE cohort and community. I was accepted to be an Honors LLC RA for the following year and started learning from the current RA team at the time to prepare, which resulted in me eventually becoming close with quite a few of them through my pursuits of learning from their experiences. I also got rejected after interviewing to be a Peer Health Educator, which was one of the first times I experienced rejection in college. I was disappointed and persevered on the idea of not being good enough, but my networks of support served as helpful reminders and cathartic listening ears to help me focus on the good things I had going. Coming home to Terry at the end of each day– whether I brought with me feelings of joy and pride or disappointment– was comforting and solidified the community I knew I could always expect from Terry.
If my first year was shaped by exploration and curiosity– the desire to understand what was possible and within reach, then my second year was the courage to pursue and develop resilience. And I did.
It was also interesting to experience Terry Hall as a place of work for the first time, though. Suddenly, it went from the place I sought solace in away from the happenings of campus to another context of being “on” all of the time– always prepared to be a resource, to be approachable, to be seen and known. I became so familiar with the route of rounds each night– starting on the 8th floor terrace and spiraling around the building until I came back up from the basement– and Terry and I grew closer through this biweekly bonding. It was intimate, especially during 1:00am rounds on my most sleep-deprived nights.
It is hard to have a work/life balance when your place of work and home are the same, so I was challenged to ensure I continued serving myself in addition to my 62 residents and team. By making my floor theme something I was excited to return to each day (See Taylor Swift) and getting creative with how I led events that felt fulfilling to me and met my residents’ needs, I was able to find balance. Having a team of people, though, to relate to, to lean on, and to give love to also made things easy. Seeing my fellow RAs as friends rather than strictly coworkers made even the commitments of weekly Monday night meetings something I looked forward to because it meant I got to see and be with all of my friends.
As a junior, Terry Hall became a place of leadership growth and friendship. I moved in early finally as a Residential Adviser for the Honors LLC to a single room. Gone was the physical proximity of Sammy and I, but it created space for us to continue growing into our own people and experience friendship through commitment, effort, and inconvenience for the first time. This also paved the way for new friendships to prosper within my Terry team, and my LLC RAs and I became especially close throughout the year. Community was not only present in my life, but it was integral; it was everything. See Honors to learn more about my LLC experience!
Some events that had great attendance that I was really proud of included my Shrinky Dink Shindig and my Taylor Swift Eras Tour Eras Extravaganza Event. When residents showed up excited to interact with each other and actively participated in the crafting, snacking, or movie-watching, it brought me so much joy to have a role in the building of that community. However, there were also many moments where residents did the leading and I got to practice meeting them where they were. For example, one time a resident came to me explaining a difficulty they were having balancing family and cultural expectations. They were valuing their freedom, ability to explore passions and friendships, and engagement in self-care in college, but within their family and culture, academic performance superseded above all. By stepping back from my own beliefs, experiences, and support, I was able to realize that although my beliefs could be true, so was their desire to fulfill external expectations. It was a moment of perspective-taking and sense-making with experiences and values that did not align with my own. I chose to engage with validation and empathy.
I’m not sure why the preparation of RA horror stories, behind-closed-doors practice for navigating challenging situations, and roommate conflicts that seem to be central to an RA earning their wings skipped me. Maybe things weren’t brought to my attention, maybe I could give myself credit for establishing clear and supportive community guidelines, or maybe I simply lucked out; no matter which it was, I was so fortunate to have an extremely positive and rewarding experience. I’ll never forget the hand-written notes I received from one room, who also bought me a Taylor Swift vinyl record, as a parting gift at the end of the year. There is something so special about having been on the receiving end of inspiring RAs, to work alongside teammates and friends who empowered and uplifted me, and then to have my efforts in living up to the expectations I anticipated for so long– to have that acknowledged and appreciated by the people I sought out to serve was immensely fulfilling. Pictured to the left is my end-of-the-year bulletin, referencing the Taylor Swift song "Long Live" and featuring polaroids submitted by my residents and team that capture some of their memories over the year!
My bed!
Lounge chair and posters!
Bathroom vibes!
My bed!
Terry Hall to me that year was learning how to live in a fishbowl and stay afloat.
Returning for my senior year was full of knowingness. Despite beginning my Assistant Resident Director (ARD) role, learning the ropes of advising Hall Council, and being on the back end of RA support rather than on the frontlines, my inextricable connection and familiarity with Terry made this transition much easier.
My living area!
My kitchen space!
Entry way with disco ball welcome sign (duh)!
My living area!
One of my biggest challenges as an ARD has been learning how to lead from the middle. My leadership trajectory over the past four years has evolved from learning what leadership is, to learning how to do it then how to apply it. Now, I am learning how to step back and let others lead. There have been many moments where I felt inclined to intervene– to make edits to a flyer, interject with my event material suggestions, or suggest an alternative approach– and I do, sometimes, when it comes to ensuring our efforts are accessible, feasible, and have potential for success– but I have also been grappling with what it is let others learn through their own experiences rather than mine. It is easy to say but much harder to do when leading feels like a habit, and I now know that I have grown so much in my ability to be an effective leader from various positions. Some of the events my Hall Council and I hosted throughout the year are pictured to the sides.
It’s also interesting being on the back-end of the RA world and experiencing the inevitable disconnect that comes with that. As an ARD, there is less inherent shared experience between myself and the team, so I have naturally positioned myself as more of a resource than a friend– relationship hasn’t developed in the same ways that it does between RAs, as I experienced last year myself. What’s special about this, though, is that I really get to lean into how my experiences have shaped me and use that to empathize with the team, know what support they may need, and impart my Terry Hall wisdom on them.
Although I was offered a position to return to Terry next year and the desire to maintain my comfort is enticing, there are three reasons why I have declined:
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My grad school classes and commitments conflict
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I am interested in creating more separation and distinguishment between my undergraduate and graduate studies
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As much as I love Terry Hall with all my heart, this year was the first time I ever felt dread returning to it.
There was one moment in the midst of my excruciatingly busy, exhausting, and seemingly endless Autumn quarter where I was returning to Terry at the end of the day and almost hesitated to enter. I was tired, and the anticipation of not being able to leave that fully behind because I needed to stay “on” as I approached my home exacerbated the burnout I felt. Though uncertainty for the following year led me to still reapply, as things started falling into place and the practicality of being an ARD again became less feasible, there was almost a sense of relief that came with that.
I feel as though this marks a natural and necessary end to a meaningful four years.
I was facilitating a one-on-one with a Hall Council executive board member, and they shared what was coming up for them: “I can’t believe there are only six weeks left of my first year of college!” I was internally confronted by the recognition and memory of feeling that way myself– seeing college as looking ahead. In that moment and now, I am confronted by the knowingness that undergrad is now a reflection of what has already happened– and how much of it has been central to the experience of place.
Each year, this place has greeted me in my introspective evolution— I’ve walked through the same set of doors when I carried the curiosity of my first-year self, when I grappled with rejection and redirection my second year, when my home became my responsibility as a junior RA, and now, as I balance my many roles within the building and across campus, I am thinking more about how they will soon close behind me and with that, the tangible evidence of my existence within them. I will take the stories, growth, and person I became, and it will always be a home to me, but I now know I do not need a physical location to feel place and purpose.
