We stood as one on convocation day, dressed in white, donned flesh-colored stockings and black shoes. Alumni watched as we walked tentatively to the chapel, bubbling in anticipation of being awarded our pins. “Soon, you’ll be officially a spelmanite,” I heard an older woman say, and it was puzzling. Since the day we accepted the admission letters, we had been calling ourselves Spelmanites. We felt we’d earned it through our decisions to be change makers and attend this historic institution in pursuit of knowledge and community. But we didn’t understand. As the program continued, the sacred nature of the ceremony began to dawn on us all. In a blink of an eye, it was my turn. As I walked up to the stage leading my row, I was greeted by beaming alumni- all too excited to hand me my pin- “keep it well,” she said. “this school will be a journey, but it will not let you leave unprepared” as she pinned me, I mulled over her words, and they stuck with me. It wasn’t the pinning, I realized, but the words of someone who had shared my journey that mattered the most, and now I was a Spelmanite.