This summer, Gabby Douglas became a flashpoint of controversy in the gymnastics world when she did not place her hand over her heart during the national anthem. In response to this action—or, rather, inaction—social media ignited with comments attacking her patriotism. Why, though, did Americans feel the need the criticize Douglas, and why did some feel that she was attacking tradition? Can a small gesture really capture what it means to be American, or what it means, moreover, to be a part of something?

People cling to traditions like those surrounding the national anthem, and attach undue importance to them, because they reassure us and those around us that we belong. It is almost as if we can grasp these symbols as instant demonstrations of identity, for if we recite the national anthem, stand up and put our hands over our hearts, we can show that we are American, that we are here, and that we are more legitimately here than those who fail to act in a similar way.

I’ve noticed something similar in the traditions I’ve been acquainted with thus far at Yale. At the end of orientation, all of us bright-eyed freshmen gathered in Woolsey Hall to sing “Bright College Years,” a song that is a tradition of Yale and symbolizes true entry into Yale’s gates. As the song finished, we took out our handkerchiefs, decorated with a Y and the year 2020. At the words “for God, for country, and for Yale,” we waved them from the left to the right to the left again, and I’m quite certain I somehow messed up this seemingly simple movement of the wrist and hand. Yale, as I’ve come to learn, is full of such traditions, and while they do remind me of how I’m attending a storied institution, they do not truly make me feel part of Yale. They make me aware of the history that surrounds me, but I still don’t feel like I’m interacting with this history. I interact with the students and people here but feel as though I’m only going through the motions with traditions that feel distant from me.

Tradition fails, at times, to incorporate perspectives and identities, because tradition is not elastic but rather rigid. Considering the controversies surrounding the renaming of Calhoun College at Yale, for example, we see exactly where tradition fails. Tradition, by its nature, is unchanging, while the university itself in terms of diversity and background of students has changed immensely. I understand that anthems, songs, and handkerchiefs are meant to symbolize all of these experiences in one universal act of unity, but sometimes symbols feel reductive, especially when we give them so much weight.

We assume that symbolic or traditional representations of belonging will always be able to represent all people, when in fact they cannot. Songs like “Bright College Years” might suggest a universal identity for the student body in its precise and measured lines and not of the different and yet equally valid stories and experiences of every student. They are inherently positive, and can demonstrate one aspect of belonging, but the problem arises when we see them as the most forceful or valid symbols of belonging. In the first few weeks of being here, it definitely feels as though these traditions are meant to capture everything that it means to be part of Yale, but they do not.

There simply is not enough room on a handkerchief to write down all the meaningful experiences I might have in my next four years here. I recognize the history of traditions and do not resist their existence, but I do not believe that they best represent belonging, for they are unable to change. With time, the qualifications of belonging evolve, and they should evolve. Our belonging to a place cannot be constrained to a symbol or a tradition, for often they are shallow and cannot do justice to the incredible color and variety of belonging.

I want to be part of Yale, and I hope I will be. I hope I will take many walks around campus until I understand its geography and until that geography somehow becomes part of me. I hope I will find myself having late night conversations with my suitemates about cereal and religion and everything in between. I hope I will find myself writing pieces like this one. These are the things, I think, that truly make me part of Yale.

People tend to hold onto symbolic forms of showing the world they belong somewhere, for it doesn’t seem enough to simply belong. It is, however, enough to simply belong, but it’s difficult to believe this in our culture, which prizes symbolic and visible belonging rather than the more real but often tacit kind. Tradition and belonging are not synonymous, and we should not treat them as such.

In four years, I will wrongly wave my handkerchief again—the blue of the “Y” now faded and the fabric slightly tattered—remembering all the experiences I couldn’t fit on it, and I will know I am part of a community.