There was a cake in a cardboard box, and there was a room full of cake-interested people. But there were no plates. And before I knew it, I had disassembled the box, first at its seams, then into even smaller pieces. "Nothing," I said, "should get between people and cake."
This did not take place at a gathering of friends. It did not happen at a family party, or at a parents' event. It happened at the job I've had for all of about four weeks. As I write about it, I can't quite believe I said what I said, or did what I did. It just happened.
Is it me? Have I suddenly, or gradually, gotten past my sense of decorum and hierarchy? Maybe. Maybe the years of reinvention have left me feeling that underneath it all, I just have to be myself, no matter where that might leave me.
Is it the place or the people around me? Have I happened upon a group where I feel that I make sense, with people who appreciate me, or get me, or both?
Because I jumped in, almost without thinking, and without second guessing myself, we all had cake. And in that moment, I had a little something sweeter--a moment in time when I was just myself.
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