M. Suzanne Terry

When I think of what it means to be invited to the table, my first thoughts come in broad terms. I think of empowerment. I dream of burning patriarchy’s house to the ground. I look for new ways to lay down my selfishness and spend a little more money in better ways to ensure a livable wage for people who work hard to grow/make/produce the things I want. I remember my Riot Grrrl days, and I still hear the revolution(s).

Soon, more concrete images come to mind:

• Having dinner for the first time in my friends’ new house
• How risotto-in-progress looks when it’s time to add more liquid to it
• Ladybug cupcakes and gallons of sherbet punch
• Champagne and steak and chipotle mayo
• Conversation that sparks over delicious treats

And finally, pondering what invitation is leads to thoughts of what it is not. For many of us, invitation carries both hope and sting – both fond and painful memories. It’s seeing the picture on social media and thinking, “Hey, the whole group is there…except me,” and trying to convince yourself that it must have been because they all spontaneously appeared and decided at the last minute to sit together, not because they didn’t choose (or worse – forgot) to include you. It’s the public conversation about tonight’s outing that doesn’t notice that there are people nearby whose invitations must have gotten lost in the mail. It’s being overqualified for what you do because you are repeatedly overlooked for what you could do. It’s all the little intersections that conspire to make the way easier for some than it is for others.

It’s the not-quite-finished spot on my table that matches the not-quite-part-of-it part of me.

In the process of writing Feast, I have been listening to stories that reveal that invitation is not as simple as it seems on the surface. I want to listen to more stories, and I’m going to take you with me. I am going to start sharing and telling these stories every Tuesday. Sometimes, these posts will be link-intensive, because there are a lot of people talking about how wonderful it feels to be invited and how terrible it can feel to be excluded. Sometimes, these posts will be snapshots of my own experience.

I hope most of these posts, however, come from you. I’m opening the floor to your experiences. The prompt is simple:

What does it mean to be invited to the table?

You can send pictures or stories (or both). You can touch on things I’ve mentioned above or, because my experience as just one human out of billions is inherently limited, you can touch on things I haven’t even fathomed. It can be a few sentences, or it can be a whole post. I want to hear from you. In case anyone hasn’t invited you to the conversation before, I want to invite you now.

Email your contribution to coffeesnob@gmail.com, including any pictures, your bio, your website/blog link, or anything else you want to include. I will also take anonymous posts (please indicate clearly in the email if this is your wish, and I will honor it).

I look forward to hearing from you. *hands you virtual cup of coffee/glass of wine/cookie/bacon*