Knowing your place in time  

Caption: Publix of Spartanburg, where it’s yet to be determined if wearing only a sports bra for a top would be acceptable or unadvisable.    

This summer, while picking up groceries after work, I witnessed another gal buying her groceries—in a sports bra and workout leggings.   

Maybe this wouldn’t have cost you a second glance, but for a girl whose hometown boasts a population of roughly 7,500, I wouldn’t be caught dead sporting only a sports bra in Publix—besides the fact that there isn’t a Publix in Hartsville—because I’d inevitably run into my high school chemistry teacher, my dentist or my grandmother’s neighbor. Heck, I’d probably just run into my grandmother.   

However, working in Atlanta, Georgia this summer—a city with a population that’s creeping on 500,000, and is much more accepting of a liberal dress code—taught me not to stare at sights that, in Hartsville, would overpower the theme of a novel at a ladies’ book club.   

Still, despite living in a city with a population 66 times larger than that of my hometown, I came to refer to this summer as a “summer of solitude.” 

Contrary to nine months out of my life for the past three years and counting, for the nearly three months I lived in Atlanta, I didn’t experience any of the following routine regularities: fighting for the shower, hearing my neighbors blaring music at every hour of the day—and night—having a group of people I could grab a meal with without question or having someone just to run errands with, or even just run with, for that matter.   

Nevertheless, conquer and prevail.  

So, what the summer lacked in companionship—given my friends were scattered up and down the east coast, across the country to California and Texas and even over the ocean to Tanzania, the Dominican Republic and Guatemala—it made up for in wholesome peace and quiet, reflection and independent endeavors. The manifestations of these quiet, reflective and adventurous days of summer were spent with my head in a book, running up and over hills in my neighborhood and making myself at home in a new church, a new Publix, a new workplace and a new workout studio.   

Yes, I missed my people: my family—especially my brother who was preparing for his first year at the University of South Carolina—and our two new Boykin Spaniels, my friends—some of whom who were multiple time zones away—and my professors.  

However, in order to take advantage of my summer in the city, I also had to take advantage of my summer of solitude. Atlanta History Center for one? I’ll take it. One latte for here, while I sit and people watch? Put it on my tab. A trip to the Georgia Aquarium on a Sunday afternoon—at my own pace? Charge it to “Meghan Daniel.”   

And then, one afternoon, I saw that girl in the sports bra in Publix, leisurely buying her groceries as if the ‘no shoes, no shirt, no service’ rule didn’t apply. But I guess it didn’t. Because it was Atlanta, not Hartsville. 

So, from an entire summer spent, for the most part, to myself, the lesson I learned is this: know where you are. Today, you and I are in Spartanburg, South Carolina at Wofford College. So be here. Whatever ‘the part’ is for you, as a Wofford student: dress it, act it, be it. Be present with your people, with your roommates, with your neighbors down the hall, with your professors and with everyone that contributes to this community. Most of us will only call this place home for a few years, so while you’re here, be here.