“Don’t forget to set the odometer to 0, Dad!” I call from the backseat as he starts the car. As a high school junior who had only ever lived in Houston, the idea of attending college out-of-state was enticing. However, my pragmatic dad wasn’t going to let me leave without a fight. His solution: “You can look at any school you want, as long as we get there by car. You’ll realize that these places are further from home than you think.” Before I knew it, my parents, sister, and I piled into “Big Bertha” – the car that that drove me to my first day of Kindergarten – and set off with naïve excitement for our 10-day college road trip. The first half of our journey was filled with sightseeing, beautiful terrain, and lots of belly laughs. However, by the time we turned around in Lexington, VA to start our drive home, the newness had definitely worn off. I ended the trip more confused than when I had started it. Defeated, I mindlessly snapped a picture of the odometer when we got home. Over the next 13 months, I couldn’t seem to find a school that felt like “home.” On the night before the decision deadline, I chose to attend Texas Christian University in Fort Worth, TX because of the generous scholarship that they had offered me; however, I was still unenthused about my final decision.
Fast-forward a few months, and not only had I quickly made TCU my new home, but I was happier than I had ever been. I had made plenty of new friends, I was enjoying every aspect of life that college had to offer, and I had lucked out with an incredible roommate (whom I didn’t know beforehand but am still close with to this day). One afternoon on my way home from class, I swung by the campus post office – 2901 Stadium Drive – to drop off some mail. I then headed back to my dorm where I got the sudden urge to look through old photos. After a minute of flipping through, I froze in my tracks: the photo of the odometer. I hadn’t thought about the photo since the road trip, nor had I read the total mileage – “2901.2 miles” – until now. In that moment, I realized that driving 2901 miles across the country is ultimately what led me to my beloved home for the next four years, 2901 Stadium Drive.
The next few years fly by, and suddenly, I am a college senior applying to dental schools. After my interviews, I had really fallen in love with a couple of programs. I was very torn as to where I wanted to pursue my career in dentistry for the next four years. After some sleepless nights spent overthinking, I ultimately decided to attend Texas A&M College of Dentistry in Dallas, TX. Once the decision was made, everything fell into place. I made plenty of new friends, somehow still found a way to enjoy life during D1 year despite the horror stories I had heard, and I lucked out with an incredible roommate (whom I didn’t know beforehand but am still living with today, three years later). We both are not very picky, so when it came to apartment hunting, we quickly settled on the first apartment we visited. It all happened so fast, so it wasn’t until I typed the apartment address into my phone that it dawned on me: this new home of mine also had the address of 2901.
When describing the past year, the first that comes to mind is “uncertain.” The unforeseeable effect that COVID has had on all of us is astounding, especially as it relates to how we are able to treat patients in the clinic. Many days, I suffer from imposter syndrome and question my own competence as I am pushed to new limits or make mistakes. I am also entering another uncertain phase of my life; in May, I will be a D4 applying to residency programs across the country. I have no idea where I will end up for the subsequent years of my life. The accumulation of all of these events can be overwhelming at times, but this is not the first time I’ve had to face the unknown, nor will it be the last. Some of us believe they are signs from God, others may call it fate, and some just think it to be a silly coincidence. Whatever it is, I’ve learned that the only thing I can do is follow the method that’s lead me to where I am today: embrace the unknown, take the leap, and hope that the number 2901 continues to show up wherever I happen to land.
By Courtney Favaloro, Class of 2022
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