I was perfectly okay! I would start my own thing! Oh, my partners and I just went our separate ways because we decided it would be better to carry forward as friends and not business partners - but we’re fine! Totally fine! I would, with effortless bravery, go it alone and live out the dream that would deliver me, airbrushed and in my lucky shirt, to the cover of Cherry Bombe magazine with the respect of all of my industry peers.
My ego was left battered, but - oh god - in no way would I for a second skip a beat or let it show that I was hurt or that I didn’t really know what to do next. We pulled it off and the client was thrilled, but I was deemed both too soft and too harsh to enter into a long-term relationship with. The “plan” lasted a solid two months and eventually fell apart when a project shaped distinctly like something bigger than we could chew, coupled with an epic no-sleep, Adderall-fueled prep session flushed out our deeper natures. We conspired over margaritas how we together would take over the world - or at least the New York Slow Food scene. The plan had come together organically: We shared mutual affections, bonded over grueling workdays and were all possessed by a deep desire to pull ourselves out from under the never-ending task of producing someone else’s dream to ride high on our own vision. Last summer, two coworkers and I left our jobs running a hip and lauded bakery in Brooklyn to start our own catering and cakes company.
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