By Matt Sauer

From early May to late July, my past, present, and future were woven together via the relationships Hillsdale fosters. I encountered alumni in subterranean Anatolian churches and at quiet pubs along the Thames. I supped with prospective Hillsdale students under the storied spires of Oxford. I gleefully bounded across Hittite ruins with friends made during my freshman year. When I was surrounded by strangers in strange lands, all it took was a simple moment with fellow Hillsdaleans—a poem from B.H. Fairchild in a Turkish coffeehouse or a discussion of Brideshead Revisited in an Oxford flat—to remind me that Hillsdale students, even those newly arrived or recently departed, can and will be united by their school’s stories in the most unlikely places.