Washington is a daunting city to plop yourself into. In just over a year, I’ve gone from an Israeli bomb shelter to an Arlington high-rise, writing for the preeminent conservative outlet in the country.

I didn’t study journalism, nor did I ever get around to nabbing one of those fancy degrees from an “elite” school. I failed to realize how truly distant I was from home until my first few “good mornings” were met with confused expressions on the crammed D.C. Metro. So goes the big city.

The immediate warmth I was greeted with in the National Review office rebuffed the stuffy, Ivy League exclusivity that detractors tend to project onto it. The intellectual environment is undoubtedly stimulating, but what stands out most is the group’s graciousness — far beyond what I’d ever expected.

For those wondering, William F. Buckley Jr.’s legacy is not just present at NR — it remains the very lifeblood of its mission. Posters, pens, and stickers of modern conservatism’s patron saint still adorn the office. He was somehow the only answer to every question.

My short time here revealed a particularly profound insight: Conservatism is much more than an insular worldview to be individually perceived and privately cultivated. It’s the way one carries/presents oneself; honors the intellectual endurance of one’s forebears; and, yes, even how hospitable one happens to be to the new guy in the office. Buckley went as far as to advise decent people to ignore politics altogether before confessing that politics would never truly ignore them, leaving us no choice but to occasionally wrestle with it.

NR delivers the dependably principled analysis that so many crave in such a dizzying political climate. It has spurned the rising tide of I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I politics and has run away from serving as a partisan cheerleader for either side.

I can’t think of a more salient quote to epitomize NR’s political sobriety than one from A. A. Milne, the English writer and author of Winnie-the-Pooh:

The third-rate mind is happy only when it is thinking with the majority. The second-rate mind is happy only when it is thinking with the minority. The first-rate mind is happy only when it is thinking.

Even as I wish to stand athwart my departure, I — as a good conservative — find myself content surrendering to the finality that tradition (or in this case, my fellowship) affords.

My gratitude extends to everyone who made my stay such a formative one — if only I had the words. But every piece reaches its end.

Instead, I leave with fond memories.