If you’re reading this, fall.
Slip.
Flail.
Fall.
Fall, and I’ll catch you.
We will catch you.
–
The day I arrived on the Hilltop, my mind ached from the pressure to fit in. I was, after all, walking into Pony territory: land of the IFC, and home of the Panhellenic. Who was I to lay claim to a position in the entering Mustang class?
I was scared. I was anxious. I was alone.
But,
I slipped.
As I carted my belongings to Armstrong Commons—distinguishable immediately by its golden cupola—I was greeted by my new roommate, Max. Max had moved in just earlier that day and eagerly helped me unpack. With him, I shared my first ever meal on campus.
I flailed.
During Stampede—our weekend-long orientation, of sorts—I met my Stampede guides, Grace and Rachel. They patiently navigated each of my questions about SMU living and welcomed me with open arms into a community into which I otherwise didn’t feel integrated. From them, I received an outstanding impression of SMU.
I fell.
On the first day of classes, I walked into Dr. Joan Arbery’s WRTR 2305, terrified of the semester to come. Just two weeks into class, I had decided that she was among the best educators from whom I had ever had the pleasure of learning. From her, I learned a zeal for the classroom unlike any other.
–
Indeed, the day I arrived on the Hilltop, I stepped in alone. But I slipped, I flailed, and I fell.
I fell, and I was caught.
By Max, by Grace, by Rachel, by Dr. Arbery.
By Faith, by Callie, by Matt, by Lindsay.
By Dr. Mmeje, by Isabel, by Willie, by Alex.
The list goes on.
Mustangs:
If you’re reading this, fall—I promise, we’re right behind you.
Tamal P., Southern Methodist University ’25
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