Before attending UNC, I spent my whole life in a small town where everything was familiar. Arriving in Chapel Hill was a change. Suddenly, I didn’t know the quickest way to get to Cookout. Or which roads to avoid during rush hour. Or anything beyond the UNC campus. For the first time in eighteen years, I was in a place completely new to me. Everyone — from parents, to mentors, to RAs — had driven this mantra of “get involved, join a club, volunteer” into my head, assuring that it would help ease the college culture shock. The problem for me wasn’t getting involved, but choosing what specifically to get involved in. During high school, I volunteered in areas that intrigued me, the ones catered to my interest. As a bookworm, I enjoyed volunteering
