The first time I tried to find The Villanovan office, I failed. I was a wide-eyed freshman who circled Corr Hall long enough to feel like an idiot before retreating to my dorm, defeated by a staircase I somehow could not locate. It is probably the most honest introduction to the next four years I could offer you, because so much of my time at Villanova has been a story of not quite knowing where I was going and showing up anyway.

I have always been a writer, which for most of my life meant something private, words as a way of locating myself when I felt lost. I walked by and picked up stacks of newspapers for eight weeks before I worked up the nerve to apply for the paper. Eventually I went back, found the dingy staircase hidden behind leaves and a faded paper sign, and sat down in a news staff meeting.

I was assigned an article about the weather.

Not exactly the investigative debut I had imagined, but I wrote as if that was the most important story happening on campus (despite the fact that it was probably only the editorial staff and my mom reading it).

During my sophomore year, I sent in an application for Co-News Editor on a whim. It was with this position that I fell headfirst into the madness of learning InDesign and deeper into journalism than I expected. I finally felt like I belonged somewhere on campus. Then came the Editor-in-Chief application. I was comfortable where I was, which is a dangerous thing to be when there is more in front of you.

What changed my mind about applying was watching Emma Cahill and Hannah Sweeney, who led before me. Working under them made me a better editor and a more careful thinker and I am genuinely grateful they took a chance on me.

I did not fully understand what I was saying yes to. Being Co-Editor-in-Chief was the hardest thing I have done at Villanova. There were nights I questioned every decision and mornings I had to lead anyway. But it was also, without question, the most rewarding opportunity I have had here.

It was during this time that I fell in love with that basement. The cluttered desks, the pale blue paneling, the bad lighting, the random print-outs plastered all over the walls and those Tuesday nights that went longer than they should have. I grew more in that space than I have words for, which is inconvenient, considering words are usually my thing.

I remember the morning I got the “Congratulations!” email, reading it twice before I let myself believe it. The first person I wanted to tell was someone I barely knew yet, her name included in the EIC line next to mine.

That person was Brooke Ackerman. Two years ago, we had that thin Villanova familiarity, where you recognize someone’s face but not much else about them. Then we got the same job, which is a strange way to start a friendship and, it turns out, a very effective one. We spent two semesters building something together and an almost unreasonable number of hours doing it, and through this, she became an extremely important person in my life. Brooke is one of the most genuine and remarkable people I’ve met at this university, and I owe her more than I could fit in a column.

I also want to name our Associate EIC, Lauren Armstrong, who I spent a lot of time with as News editors and on our EIC team. She brought a full-hearted energy to this paper that made everything around her better. I came to know her so much more deeply in this role than I ever expected, and I am forever grateful for that.

And where would I be without The Villanovan’s faculty advisors, Michael Bradley and Cat Coyle. What I’ll remember most is how much they trusted us, never letting us forget that this paper was ours to run, even when we were probably too stubborn to make their lives easy. Over time, they became more than just advisors, but also our friends.

I love The Villanovan. I love what it means to this campus, that there are students here who want to write about this community every week. I love that I know the editorial staff will still be rereading the same paragraph and trying to get it right, even seven hours into a production night. I love that people care enough to do that for a place they’re only in for four years.

Being part of it changed what writing is for me. What I found at the bottom of Corr Hall was, sure, a newspaper. But it was also the people who made me a better writer, a better editor and a better version of myself—and I would circle that building a hundred more times to find them. I hope whoever finds that staircase next does not spend as long looking for it as I did. And I hope, when they do, they find something at the bottom worth staying for.