I can vividly remember sitting in a sea of Carolina Blue, hands clasped over my ears, with what sounded like the entire ocean crashing over me. That same sound you hear when you’re swimming in the sea, only to be crushed by a wave, tumbling under what feels like the weight of the world. That sound makes you feel small, and yet connected to something much bigger, and above all else, takes your breath away. That was the sound of the Dean Dome on April 4, 2005, as the UNC Tar Heels defeated Illinois, claiming their fifth national title. At a ripe five years of age, sitting in that arena was about the last place I wanted to be. The fans were obnoxious and scary, the noise was earsplitting, and it was way past my bedtime. But the screen was big, and there was no way my parents were going to miss out on what many call an experience of a lifetime, so my brother and I tagged along.
Looking back now, I can remember that moment in extreme detail, as if I was still sitting there, balled up in that seat. As my love for this community grew and my fear of loud noises diminished with age, sitting in those seats became home to me. The Dean Dome is where I learned to love something so much that you kind of hate it, where I went on first dates, walked across my high school graduation stage, and ultimately where I first understood what it meant to be a part of something bigger than me. I am a born and bred Tar Heel, and while I couldn’t quite comprehend it at age five, that was the first of many formative experiences this university had to offer me.
My entire life, I have been wearing Carolina blue, and wearing it with pride. When it came time to start thinking about applying to colleges, it was always assumed that I would go to UNC, by everyone, and especially by myself. This was my dream school, but I knew I couldn’t just apply to one place. So, I did the whole college tour thing – visiting beautiful and prestigious universities scattered across the country. At each school I would push myself to picture what my life would be like, and then I would turn to my mom or dad and say, “I like it a lot, but it’s not Carolina.” But I applied anyways. Because this is just what you do. When you go to East Chapel Hill High School, all of your peers are raised with the same understanding. We all mass apply, and we all apply to UNC. The first round of decisions rolled out in late January, mid-afternoon, as I was sitting in AP Biology, my last period of the day.
“I got in!”
“No way me too!”
My class had erupted into chaos as everyone around me opened their decisions. My heart was beating out of my chest - there was absolutely no way I was going to be opening my decision here. The bell rang and I booked it to my ‘97 Honda Accord, taking the turns out of the parking lot faster than I ever had before. I made it home, raced inside, and flung open my laptop. And then my heart dropped. I had been deferred.
For someone like me, who seemingly had at all planned since roughly age 10, reading that I had to wait two more months felt close to impossible. But I had to remind myself that deferred did not mean denied, and that there was still a chance. So, I waited, and then March rolled around. And I found myself yet again in my biology class, surrounded by the same people, anticipating the news. Like clockwork, people opened their decisions right then and there, but I had learned from round one that there was absolutely no way I would be reading it anywhere but my bedroom. So, I jumped into Wanda the Honda, flew home, and typed my login faster than humanly possible. And once again, my heart dropped. I had been waitlisted.
This felt like a really nice way of saying, NO. So, I took it as that, and I was devastated. I let myself throw a pity party for a few days and then had to remember the other lives I had imagined on those school tours, and how maybe they weren’t all that unimaginable. It took a little bit of time, but I eventually picked another school and got really excited for it. I met my roommate, bought the school T-shirts, went for a welcome weekend, and was ready to go. UNC was out of sight and out of mind, and I was better than okay. And then, on my very last day of high school, June 8th, I heard familiar whispers through the halls. The same whispers I had avoided two times before.
“Did you hear the UNC waitlist came out?”
At this point, I had completely forgotten this was even a thing. But hearing this, my heart dropped yet again, because I just knew. It was one of those moments that I cannot even put into words, but I was 100% certain that I had gotten in. I drove home at a normal speed this time, walked inside, logged in, and there in front of me was the word I had been so eager to hear my entire life – Congratulations.
I was one of the 1% of students to get in off the UNC waitlist in 2018, and I had about the opposite reaction I ever thought I would. I was upset and I had absolutely no idea what to do.
“Go to USC, it’ so important to get away and start brand new!”
“You would be crazy to turn down UNC, you were born to be a Tar Heel!”
Everyone, except me, had a strong opinion on where I should go. And I had not a clue. I sat on the floor of the Dean Dome during my high school graduation, looking up at all the hanging Carolina memorabilia, and forced myself to try and have that quintessential moment of clarity. If any moment should have given it to me, it was this one. But still, nothing. I was torn between attending the school that had accepted me right off the bat and that I had already begun to build a life at, and the school of my dreams that told me no twice. As I bounced back and forth between the two for about a week, there was one image burned into my mind, and it was of the Carolina graduates wearing their light blue robes in May, scattered across campus. This was a sight I looked forward to seeing every year, and I could not seem to leave the image alone. I told my mom about it, and through talking with her, it hit me.
The person I saw myself being in four years was the product of UNC, and UNC alone. I wanted to wear that blue robe. I threw everything I had into UNC at the last minute possible, and even for someone like me, who is the antithesis of a procrastinator, this was the best decision I have ever made.
This is the story I tell at the bell tower every week as I close out my campus tours, and I am currently writing this now at the front desk of the UNC Office of Undergraduate Admissions, two hours before they release the Class of 2026 application decisions. I was accepted into the Admissions Ambassador program as a first-year student, one of five, and have been giving my version of the Carolina story to prospective students ever since. I now represent the very office that nearly denied me entrance, and I am 100% better because of this.
In four short months, it will be my turn to put on that Carolina Blue robe. I am excited and nervous and happy and sad and anxious and eager. I am all the emotions wrapped into one. While the first question I am always asked after telling this story is: “What was the other school?!,” it is usually followed by a parent asking me to speak about the biggest lesson I have learned throughout my four years. I normally pause and feel like I am lacking the right words. From the moment I first sat in the Dean Dome, to receiving the disappointing decision updates, and now getting ready to graduate, this place has been teaching me lessons – there are truly too many to name. This blog will now serve as home to some of those lessons and experiences – the weird and quirky ones I learned both inside and outside of the classroom, and the ones that have made me the person I am today. So, without further ado, let me formally introduce myself:
My name is Katie Billings, and I am a Tar Heel.
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