Sometimes I worry that success is like a small birthday cake at a huge party.

The people who are the most assertive get there first and cut the biggest pieces. And then a line forms. The line is totally random. I’m at the back of the line, and I can’t help but wonder:

“How did she get ahead of me?”
“How come he has cake, and I don’t have any cake?”
“I’ve been here just as long as they have!”
“Will I get a good slice of cake?”
“…Will I even get any cake?”

Like there’s only so much success to go around. And if I were just more aggressive or well-liked, I’d have cake already. I wonder what other people have that I don’t. (Besides cake.) Why them, not me?

But mostly, I’m afraid that I won’t have this thing I want so desperately.

And in a way–it’s fine. I won’t die if I don’t get cake. But I will still be hungry. There’ll be this big empty pit, right at my core. With the ability to fill it taken completely out of my hands and left up to chance.

Fortunately, you can buy an entire non-metaphorical cake at every chain grocery store and eat it alone in your apartment. None the wiser.