When I consider what I most loved about my time at Puget Sound, what most rises up are the sense-memory cues.
The smell of hazelnut filling my nose as I clutched my morning latte on the way to class. The din of lacrosse practice sneaking through the glass of my Phibbs Hall dorm window. The feeling of damp wool socks sliding around inside my Birkenstocks. The calming, omnipresent sight of ivy blanketing the campus as if it were protecting us from the outside world. Puget Sound was a beautiful bubble from the harsh realities that lay ahead. It was, in the truest sense, how it felt to be safe.
It’s been 30 years since graduation. And honestly? Conjuring moments of safety and ease often feels impossible these days. I’m a journalist who works in Hollywood, so my heart breaks a little more each day as I watch the industries I love dearly – entertainment and publishing – struggle for survival under the thumbs of corporate consolidation and political meddling. I see AI as no longer a threat but a fully formed menace, destroying the careers of creatives in my backyard and around the world. The cost of living feels insurmountable. Civil rights are eroding. Climate change is more real than we could have ever imagined. My peers are battling illness, divorce, and unemployment — sometimes all at once. Kids have left the nest. Our boomer parents are starting to leave us, too. The country that held so much promise for us as young people barely resembles the America reflected to me in the news.
Who or what can possibly conjure the feelings I felt as a student all those years ago? The answer for me resides within the impermeable and inalienable friendships that I forged during my time at Puget Sound. I often think that it’s one of life’s greatest gifts, and mysteries, frankly, that the people we meet at 18, when we’re barely beyond the threshold of childhood, can become the foundation of our lives. Across all my Puget Sound friend-groups (dorm friends, sorority sisters, housemates, work-study pals, classmates), there is an unbreakable bond of community; a feeling of safety that none of us is alone, no matter how wholly chaotic and unsafe the world around us may feel.
And while none of us can ever re-create the sense of hopefulness and comfort we felt as students, I personally rest a little easier knowing that my lifelines, my Puget Sound connections, are still thriving. I suppose being a Logger for life means we’re never truly alone. And if that’s what safety feels like today – I’ll take it.
Stacey Wilson Hunt ’96 earned a master’s in journalism from Columbia University in 2001. She is a longtime contributor to The Hollywood Reporter and a prolific host of industry events, podcasts, and series. She lives in Los Angeles, just down the hill from the Hollywood sign.
