Okay, here is the contraband cake entry, with an amusing back story. I struggle with fear and anxiety sometimes, (really? you noticed?). Part of this fear and anxiety is around success, some is around just keeping things from falling apart, which is the pretty common fear we have which makes most of us try to keep things the same. We hear over and over that people fear change, and I don't entirely buy into that, because, well, we change all the time, and often we crave change, we delight in change, but we say we fear change, because we don't know how to say how much we have internalized rules that rule and well, scare us. So, part of my fear in being part of an organization is the unspoken rules, that wonky part of the cultre that we all feel, but don't know how to put our finger on, and so this, this at time scares me, intimidates me. And so when I first posted this post, I got scared, and I took it down. But then, someone I work with came up to me and said, "Hey I loved your contraband cake post." And I was taken aback, wow, within that maybe short hour that I left it up, someone had seen and read it. And when I told her I had taken it down, she seemed surprised at my fear, or perhaps reticence, to leave it up. Yet when I talked with someone else about it, he confirmed the cultural contraints that made me take it down. So, I was stuck, I want to be brave, I want to be vulnerable and I want to live and work in such a way that we can all have the hard conversations, where some things might not be exactly appropriate, but where most things aren't taboo. Where I'm not dictated to by the rules of dominance and hierarchy, but of love and listening and curiosity. So, here, I cast aside my fear and repost, Contraband Cake:
Where I work (my day job), word came down recently that there were to be no more celebratory cakes paid for with organizational funds. I wouldn’t say this was a crack down, in that rampant cake eating parties were happening daily, weekly, or even monthly, but it had become custom to say goodbye to those moving on to either more expansive opportunities, or say the chance to rest (retirement); with a gathering of colleagues around cake and coffee. A far cry from the going away gift I’d gotten at another University job (a leather briefcase), but at least it was a send off, a chance to say thank you and goodbye, and well, eat cake.
So, recently when a couple of people retired, there was cake, however, it was jokingly referred to as contraband cake. And as I got to thinking about it, I’ve wondered, really, if this is the place for me anymore, where the most wildly creative, and rule-breaking thing we could do is eat cake? This is an organization that sells knowledge and leadership skills, and doesn’t recognize human capital, and the importance of ritual and celebration. An organization that is cutting back on cake. What gives? There are many many little signs in our lives that signal when it is time to move on, strangely, mine is cake. I wonder, is it possible for a cake without anything un-cake like, baked into it, an inexpensive grocery store cake, for Pete’s sake; to be contraband, really? When I leave, I will still most likely be deeply in debt, I will not have taken in millions like this organization, but I will buy my own cake, and it will be sweet.
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