Last month, one Tuesday morning, our senior leader greeted us by email with warm wishes for Mardi Gras and invited us to share King Cake. We were also invited to celebrate that evening at Voodoo Bayou in downtown Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. It was a simple workplace gesture, yet it stirred something deeper in me.
I have long believed that one of the quiet keys to living in harmony with the society around us is learning its rhythms, traditions, sacred days, and celebrations. So I took a moment to read about Mardi Gras. I learned that it is also known as Shrove Tuesday, the final day before Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. The phrase means “Fat Tuesday” in French, a day historically set aside to enjoy rich food before the start of a season of fasting and reflection.
What moved me most was not the food or the festivity, but the familiarity. As an Orthodox Christian, I, too, entered a season of fasting the same week; fifty-five days of abstaining from meat, dairy, and all animal products. Different languages. Different calendars. Different expressions. Yet the same human longing for discipline, renewal, and spiritual preparation. Across continents and cultures, we fast. We reflect. We seek to begin again.
In response to the invitation, I decided to join my coworkers that evening at Voodoo Bayou. It is true that from Monday to Friday, we often spend more waking hours with colleagues than with our own families. Over time, coworkers quietly become part of our lives. For that reason, I participate in social gatherings that allow connection beyond tasks and deadlines.
That evening, we spoke not of reports, modeling outputs, or projects, but of family and life. I sat among colleagues, men and women, sharing appetizers. Some of us also had a couple of beers and other beverages. The conversations were light yet meaningful, about children, neighborhoods, and everyday experiences. One colleague happily showed me pictures of her daughters, her face glowing with pride.
Then came a question I have come to expect and even enjoy answering:
“How many children do you have?”
“Four,” I replied.
Their faces reflected a mixture of surprise and admiration. I mentioned their ages and the spacing between them. Thankfully, this time, no one followed with the question I have occasionally received in the past: “From how many wives?” Life teaches you to smile at such moments.
Later, a young coworker sitting near me shared his academic journey and recent professional growth. He mentioned that he still lives in the same town where he was raised, near his parents, his siblings, and even his grandparents. His roots remain planted in the same soil that first shaped him. I paused quietly at the word grandparents. I have never met mine.
It is striking how casually life’s blessings and absences reveal themselves in ordinary conversation. Some grow surrounded by generations. Others grow with stories instead of faces. Still, we all enter shared spaces carrying our own memories, experiences, gratitude, and longing.
Moments like this remind me that the workplace is more than a professional setting. It is a meeting place of histories. Of cultures. Of unseen journeys.
When we take time to learn one another’s traditions, we do not lose our own. We deepen them.
And in that understanding, we become a little more human to one another.
Where Memory Travels 