Why I’m thankful every day to have “Tulane” on my resume


And yes, I really do mean every day. But especially on days that include interviews or meetings with people I don’t know.

I’ve only been in the workforce for about a year and a half. But I’ve had my fair share of professional encounters during that time. I’m a qualified graduate. Graduated with honors, won a few awards, have had my fair share of internships and experience. What I’m saying is, I have enough material for the standard cover letter/interview #humblebrags.

A few months ago I walked into an higher-ups office at work who I was meeting for the first time. I was nervous – and then I saw The Blue Dog. You know the one. I said, “you a New Orleans fan?” motioning to the frame. Turns out he’s close with the artist. Who knew? A few months later, in a not so dissimilar setting, a producer asked me “Tulane? How was it?” It wasn’t in that disinterested, killing time, kind of way. He wanted to know how it was.

Here’s the thing you realize when you leave New Orleans: it really is as interesting and unique as Tulane marketed it to be. The city itself is amazing, not just for what it endured and rebuilt after Katrina, but for the traditions, weirdness, and people it attracts. It is a city unreplicated anywhere else in the U.S., and I’d go so far as to say the world. Now, of course you can say the same about New York or D.C. or LA. Of course these cities have something special and cool about them, those certain traits that move millions to call them home. But not like New Orleans.

New Orleans has a je ne sais quoi. You can’t quite place what makes you love it, what makes you want to know about it should you encounter someone who has spent time there or even called it home, what makes you want to be around people who understand just what it means (both to miss her and to know her). It’s hard to put your finger on a tangible reason why your heart swells when you hear jazz through your headphones and you just imagine it for real at Blue Nile. And you can’t explain why plastic beads and the color combos of green, purple, and gold – or black and gold, for that matter! – make you feel a little drunk and a little nostalgic all at the same time.

So when my cold-meetings get New Orleans-warm simply because my resume lists me as a Tulane alum, or when a conversation with strangers leads me to say I grew into myself for four years down in New Orleans, I’m thankful.

Not that I wasn’t before. But it’s always nice to have a reminder.

“A Tulane education now means a New Orleans education.”

I’ve always tried to explain to people just how integrated and involved Tulane is in the vibrant, unique community of New Orleans and this article now does it for me! It’s true that one of the best parts of my Tulane education was my NOLA education. By partnering with NGOs and Community Centers in class and working with Habitat for Humanity and literacy groups through Pi Beta Phi, Tulane educated me in more ways than just Political Science and Communications. It’s sappy and cliche but I learned about life outside the Tulane Bubble, and it was the University that promoted and pushed students to have that kind of invaluable experience. This article cuts to the core that a good college isn’t just where polls rank it – it’s about the feel. And this recent alum feels particularly nostalgic and proud to read about her school in such a positive light – especially when it’s written by a fellow alumni! ROLL WAVE!

“A Tulane education now means a New Orleans education.”

Ode to Irby 233

Everything old really is new again. Not that Irby can ever really be considered new, but the sentiment stands. I’ve recently been informed by the ever-so-reliable Facebook that my old room has new, “smelly” inhabitants. I do, however, know these rascals and happen to enjoy the tales of their antics, which I’m sure will continue in the spaces that I and my 7 roommates used to call our own. Still…to be blunt: this is insanely weird. I mean, it feels like yesterday that I was lugging box upon suitcase upon suitcase – correction, Matt and Foster were lugging box upon suitcase, but that’s just semantics. Besides, I encouraged from afar.

It seemed like some distant omen hearing Chris call “dibs, bitches!” on my bed for next year. By the way, good luck with that….

Well, either way you slice this pie the Irby corner suite of old has become new again. We’ll miss the jungle, the days of the hammock, the welcome (and unwelcome) visitors at all hours, the constant notes of Miley and some good ol’ country flowing escaping through our door, the acoustics of the bathroom (ah-hem!), The List, our coloring book display, the reliability of the railing as you heaved the nights drinks into the leaves and the sun soaked floors that we used to bathe in sunlight – whoa, did I just make Irby sound glamorous? Peace out, Irby 233. Good times, good music and probably more memories than we can even try to remember. Oh and if the new tenants are reading this: If you guys happen to find my blue Thing 2 wig, keep it. While it has sentimental value, I’m pretty sure it’s also decaying and may be a health hazard. Cheers!

And now a quick trip down MemIRBY Lane…

Love you girls!


a nod to new orleans from the beach