I don't know if you are like this, but I am. If there's a cake, sharing it makes me nervous. What if it runs out before I get a piece? What if I end up with only a teeny, tiny piece? What if I want more and there is no more?
Along these metaphoric lines I live my larger life. I get an agent. I get a two-book deal. But now--greedy pig that I am--I want the thing to sell. Oh, not just sell, but sell well. (I don't have to be Danielle Steele, I just don't want to end up in the remainders section of your local bookstore.)
In an ironic turn of events, while I can get a major publishing deal, I can't manage to sell an essay to one of the mother magazines I subscribe to. This shouldn't hurt my pride. Alas. I shouldn't want the whole cake. Alas.
This is the Zen: one bite of cake at a time. Don't think about the cakes of the future. So I am trying to teach my toddler to chew. He eats like a snake swallowing a mouse. "Take your time," I tell him. Now I have to model it.
Children are impossible. They are perfect mirrors. They demand that someone become an adult.
What's an adult? Someone happy with what they have, that one piece of cake. After all, you can always make more. Oh, no wait, I've had an even deeper thought. It's not really the cake you want! It's something deeper....