If you believe in magic and good food, then there is a magical good food place in DC called Creme and one of their most magical foods is a coconut cake. So after a long day of discussing power, language, the written word, and inclusion I made sure that before I called it a night I went to Creme. I ordered two slices of cake, one for me and one for the honey blonde Black woman who was my cab driver.
She’d never heard of Creme and like a true foodie, in my shock I went on and on about all of their food but especially their coconut cake. When I first had the cake I told her, the server, a male, said while his current relationship status was single and not seeing anyone…the coconut cake would be his wedding cake. I was in love with that cake. I love supporting small businesses, and I love sharing good stuff and spreading a little $8.00 slice of happiness.
Love shares. That’s what it does, because it’s not selfish. It doesn’t fear lack so it doesn’t need to hold so tightly to things, people, or relationships. It trusts that sharing, giving, partnering out of a place of love, that all will be well and that love begets love.
There is a freedom in love that has the power to ground us in a deep knowing that should we decide to not only live from that place, but to share it, we won’t be uprooted or unraveled. We won’t be any less, but quite possibly more. More loving, more fulfilled, more gracious.
Our conversation in the cab gave way to our love for various types of food , family traditions, restaurants to visit during my next trip, gentrification in DC. It gave way to knowing and being known. Love desires to know (intimacy) and be known (vulnerability).
We parted ways. I made my way to my fourth floor vintage hotel room where as I started to settle in for the night received a call from someone I loved, my mother. You could hear the tiredness in her voice. We talked about her day, and that weariness led way to sadness as she shared her colleague’s son died from a blood clot. She cried she told me. She cared about her friend and could only imagine the pain the family felt. She shared in the pain as she could. Living from a place of love does that too. Oh it shares in joy but also shares in pain, in loss, in hurt, and in weariness.
My hope for you is that as you live in the love you have decided too be in, as you have defined it, and believed it, is that you share it. May the love you cultivate be one so freeing that you wholeheartedly share it whether through buying cake for a cab driver, sharing in the sorrow of a loss of a colleague, sharing hopes for a new job, fears about a relationship you really want to work, and dreams of that new business in the area of the city being revitalized (but not gentrified). xxoo