It was a box of a room, more cramped than cozy. A single bed, draped in dreary gray sheets, hugged the walls. A wooden desk and plastic chair were less than two feet adjacent. Other highlights included compact closet space, a modestly slim bookshelf and a single-pane window overlooking Euclid Avenue.

For 10 months, this was home. It wasn’t a very happy one.

Because its lone resident was a college sophomore brimming with self-doubt, alone and lost, more than 6,000 miles away from home. He rushed back and forth from class — head bowed and music blaring. He consistently opted for takeaway from dining halls in fear of eating alone. He didn’t have many friends and rarely sought out new relationships.

Ironically, the aforementioned prison-of-a-room became a flimsy shelter, temporarily protecting him from the unanticipated shortcomings felt during his first year on campus.

So, that lonely corner single perched on the third floor of Oren Lyons Hall became his sanctuary.

My sanctuary.

Syracuse University was far from what I expected. My dorm felt desolate and social interactions seemed hard to come by outside my living space, let alone parties. After spending my entire freshman year virtually — studying while practically nocturnal — due to COVID-19, why was there a further disconnect … here?

I knew I couldn’t assimilate, find my crowd or even a handful of friends within days. But why didn’t anything change once September trickled to an end? Why did I lie to high school friends about crazy Halloween plans when I had none? Why did I put on a brave face during daily FaceTime calls with my parents, telling them everything was OK?

• • •

I remember letting the phone ring at least twice before picking up. It was a warm spring day, weeks before the end of my sophomore year. Anish Vasudevan, now the D.O.’s former EIC, was calling. He had just been promoted to be the paper’s next sports editor. I was told he’d be selecting his staff that day. I wanted so badly to be on that staff.

A lot had changed for me leading up to that moment. I spent the spring semester covering SU’s tennis team. It was a minuscule role in the D.O.’s hierarchy of beat assignments, yet I felt I was contributing to something — anything — for the first time all year. Did anyone frantically thumb through my writing archives to find whether Miyuka Kimoto won her No. 3 singles matchup against Louisville on a Sunday morning? No. But being on a beat helped me meet more people, some of whom are my best friends today.

I started to write more. Aside from tennis, I covered a Sean McDonough talk at Newhouse. There was an article on the mental health of SU athletes and a roster breakdown of Boeheim’s Army — the then-defending champions of The Basketball Tournament. In a class we shared, I remember begging former Sports Editor Connor Smith to let me write about local high school standout J.J. Starling — now a starter on SU’s men’s basketball team. Connor told me it was mine if I could name every McDonald’s All-American in the 2022 class. Easy.

So when Anish told me I was the D.O. sports section’s next assistant digital editor, I felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment. It didn’t matter that — like the tennis beat — this was simply an entry position because getting on staff felt like I was this much closer to finding a new home.

The three semesters — and well over 300 days — of long nights, seemingly never-ending coverages, and ill-timed write ups that came with saying yes to Anish on that spring day?

Worth it.

• • •

There aren’t many bad days now. The D.O.’s made sure of that. The boy who arrived on campus drained of confidence doesn’t exist anymore. In his place is a 22-year-old sports reporter with over 200 bylines, having lived out his pre-collegiate dream of covering men’s basketball for a major student publication.

He doesn’t go out as much as his friends probably want him to, but he’s forever thankful for their unwavering support and willingness to shoot some hoops or have a meal at Chipotle. He has a toothy, ear-to-ear smile plastered permanently on his face. He vocalizes his love for LeBron James and offers atrocious March Madness bracket advice.

He isn’t scared to eat alone nor overanxious when stepping onto some of campus’s busiest walkways.

At one time, he contemplated transferring. Running from it all. He used to count down the days before a transpacific flight could whisk him away during breaks. Never did he think an unsuspecting three-story house at 230 Euclid — a mere block from the nightmarish confines of Oren Lyons — would give him… happiness.

So, if you’re a lost college kid searching for that same elusive feeling, tap your knuckles against the house’s large maroon door.

Ease it open and you’ll find what he called home.

What I’ll always call home.

— 30 —

Tyler Schiff was a senior staff writer for The Daily Orange, where his column will no longer appear. He can be reached at trschiff@syr.edu and on X @theTylerSchiff.

Published on May 2, 2024 at 8:20 am