You never really know where exactly your sanctuary is going to be when you get to college. Once you do, you thrive in it, learn in it, and love in it. Until one day you realize you are about to graduate, and soon have to hail your final and most difficult goodbye to some of your favorite people and places. 

Mentally, I’m there right now, painfully waving goodbye to the amazing Whit. 

I went to my very first Whit meeting as a sophomore, back when they took place over at the old brick building on High Street. I made the short trek from my apartment over to this slightly creepy building in mid-January, meaning it was dark, cold, and with my luck, pouring rain. And no, this is not fictional ambiance I’m adding–walking into that building soaked from the pouring rain was the furthest thing from aesthetically pleasing. 

I made my way into a room of what I presumed to be editors sitting all around a big table, with writers standing on the outskirts, a room jam packed with chatter and young aspiring journalists. I squeezed my way in and picked up a story about a sorority event, a ginormous feat for my 19-year-old self. 

Fast forward a couple days, the event got cancelled. With nothing else to cover, and not realizing these editors would’ve understood and helped me out, I felt embarrassed and stopped showing up. Yeah, I crawled back into my shell a lot back then. 

So I started exploring different avenues like radio, public relations, and fictional writing (all of which I was not as passionate for compared to journalism). Somehow along the way, I discovered the wonderful South Jersey Climate News. Our first class was serendipitously in that same eerie building on High Street, and it was there where I would eventually meet two girly Whit editors by the names of Madison Miller and Sylent Michaels, who saw the hungry journalist in me and urged me to come. 

Once I came back, it was history from every Whit Wednesday thereon. I found a particular niche in opinion journalism, a world where you can set aside some journalistic standards in the pursuit of raw honesty and authentic voice. In opinion writing, it wasn’t just about facts—it was about feeling, perspective, and the challenge of making someone care. For the first time, I wasn’t just reporting on the world. I was stepping into it, staking my claim, and saying, “This is how I see it.” 

The Whit gave me both the room, and the courage, to do that.

I would then go on to become the elected Opinion Editor, my favorite job I’ve ever had and one I wish I could hold onto just a little bit longer. Through every edit, every late Wednesday night, and every InDesign obstacle, I could only learn to fall in love with The Whit and the people who worked alongside me to make it happen. This random student newsroom in South Jersey, whether it was tucked away in that old High Street building or in the corners of our Bozorth office, became a second home to me. And now that I am graduating in almost two weeks, the love I hold for this place is only bursting at the seams. 

Looking back, I wish I would’ve come back after that first meeting sophomore year. I wasn’t conscious of it at the time, but I did feel out of place, and needed to find my sanctuary. If only I knew then that it was the people in that off-putting building that would eventually become my safe place. 

I’m so grateful to not only have found a place that allowed my skills to flourish, but to have found like-minded people who helped drive my journalistic self forward. I realize now how hard that is to find in any kind of career field; people who want to work together to help each other master their craft, all while being the best of friends. There’s a very specific kind of magic that happens when you’re surrounded by students who are all chasing the same big dreams, not out of recognition or respect, but because they simply love what they do. It was this rare and unexpected kind of camaraderie that turned what would’ve been silent working nights into some of my favorite memories of college. The kind that made walking into a long night of InDesign feel less like work, but more like coming home. 

I’m not entirely sure what life without The Whit is going to be like, it’s hard to remember Rowan without it. Our weekly Wednesday’s have been my anchor. I never knew what was going to happen the next day, but what I did always know is that I’d be back in that string-lit corner with some of my favorite people on the upcoming Wednesday night, which was enough to ground me. 

What I also know is that I am coming out of this with an even bigger family, my incredible fellow Whit Staff. To you all: thank you for being my sanctuary. Whether it was coming along with me for vending machine trips, being each other’s venting outlets, or spitballing brain rot references back and forth, I am endlessly grateful and proud to have worked alongside the amazing you. I simply can’t wait to see what the future holds for us journalism nerds. 

When I walk across the graduation stage in a couple weeks, I won’t just be carrying my diploma, but also the countless inside jokes, life lessons, and beautiful friendships I’ve built alongside me. While it’s hard to say goodbye, I will forever hold a piece of this magical place in my heart, which is more than enough to fulfill me as I make my exit at Rowan. 

This is your Opinion Editor, signing off. Thank you for this beautiful opportunity.

For comments/questions about this story DM us on Instagram @thewhitatrowan or email opinion@gmail.com