When I was in college, I joined a sorority. There was an awesome sense of belonging in that, knowing that I was in a community of women that I could call friends, and we could accept each other's differences simply because we were united by the same Greek letters of the sorority. Over those three years that I was an active sister, there was this idea drilled into us that we were “always wearing our letters.” In other words, we were always representing our sorority, whether we were wearing the Greek letters that designated us as a community or not. So wherever we went, whatever we said, however we conducted ourselves– it was a reflection of the sorority itself.

I remember stepping out to center stage in my high school auditorium, lights in my eyes, and every chair empty but three. I was a bright-eyed freshman who wanted nothing more than to make the student-run spring musical. I thought it was a big deal because, unlike the faculty-supervised winter musical, not everyone that auditioned made it. Only the best made that coveted cast list, and I had been practicing for days to make sure that my name was on it, no matter the part.