Sarah Dessen is Back

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I saw a guy with the tip of his hair flicked up with hair gel. It was such a 2003 moment.

Speaking of 2003– I was thinking about the two writers who had many of us (me specifically) in a chokehold during the early 2000s.

One was Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, writer of the Alice series. So many of us grew up with Alice. The books were a series where we follow Alice McKinley from elementary school to old age. If you read them, it’s hard to forget her friends Pamela and Elizabeth and her older brother Lester (and his girlfriends). And, of course, Patrick. Alice grows up with her widower father and her older brother Lester in a fairly stable home. She deals with the normal adolescent stuff. These books were gems. Reynolds Naylor, a kind legend. That woman sent me a package in reply to a letter I sent. I will never forget that.

Then, there was Sarah Dessen, who wrote one of my favorite characters ever— Halley Martin from How to Deal (movie) and Someone Like You (book). Sarah Dessen’s books were sort of the other side of the coin. They lacked the stability Reynolds Naylor gave Alice. Her books were often focused on a young woman who is going through trauma— usually her parents’ divorce, moving to a new town, being an outcast. Sometimes, she addressed heavy topics like domestic violence. She showcased young women going through adolescence while also swimming deep in some of the hardest things life can throw at us. I don’t know how she did it, but I am forever grateful, and I clung to it.

A scene from How to Deal the movie based on two of Dessen’s books. Halley Martin is portrayed by Mandy Moore.

Dessen gave her characters edge. One of my favorite Halley scenes in the movie is when she chops off all her hair. It’s a moment of metamorphosis. A snapshot on a timeline. Take it from someone who has been exactly there— when a teen girl lops off her hair, some deep internal growth is happening. The cutting off of the blanket that culture assigns so much beauty and value to is often a rejection of something or someone and certain ideals. It’s a shedding of sorts. It’s a coming into one’s own without frivolity.

Why am I thinking about the gifts Reynolds Naylor and Dessen have bestowed on me? After years, Sarah Dessen is releasing a new book called Change of Plans. I saw NYC announced on her book tour. As someone who has read every single one of her books, it caught my attention and made me smile. It made me wonder who has filled these gaps and made their mark on the young women of today.

I wonder if the audience for Dessen will be teens or the millennials like me who held onto her books like a life raft. I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.

God bless the writers who dug up these characters and breathed life into them somehow. They were characters that served as guides and friends along a difficult journey. I will never forget a Dessen book I bought at the airport on my way to camp, Lock and Key. I only read it on the plane. While everyone slept on the return flight to Tampa (or wherever we had scheduled landing— I think it was Tampa), I finished that book and cried in my seat quietly. It was one of those books where I felt like a different person by the last page. Something inside of me healed a little.

Those stories are stamped in those of us who lived them deeply.

I am glad Dessen is back to bring us back into her world of docks, bikes, music and healing. We will forever hate Spinnerbait! Iykyk

My Torso is on Fire

By: Gabriela Yareliz

It’s going to be a rainy week. Today is the one sunny day, and I am grateful. You can just feel the March energy, even though it was freezing this morning.

I saw someone start their post by saying they feel like they are drowning (it was all on the luxury of pessimism) — poor woman, and I reflected on how I have felt these past days. Here is your PSA and reminder today— if you have a personal washer and dryer, you are BLESSED. We have machines in our building that are great, but I am pretty sure that in these past few days, I have been having an allergic reaction to someone’s leftover fabric softener. Sharing machines has its downside. My skin has felt on fire on my torso for three days. Today was no exception. I will grab a pen, highlighter— anything long and start scratching my back and hard to reach spots on my waist. This rash be damned. A plague on none of our houses! Sigh. (Yes, I am being Shakespearean with my pain).

The morning train was quiet. People were half asleep or maybe weird. (They are always weird— perhaps the word is “afraid.”) Every time we are on high terror alert, people grow quiet. They sip on their coffee and glance around. Iran weaves in and out of the mind and people’s facial expressions. Even the mentally ill are quiet.

I walked past a long line of people with blankets and sleeping bags outside. I had no idea what was happening. Someone mentioned it was auditions for the conservatory. At the end of the day, while fighting my way to the train station, I realized there was a premiere happening. The people waiting in line looked straight up unhoused. One man dropped his pants. I don’t know how that premiere is about to go, but it’s about to get interesting.

What else has been on my mind today? Emma Grede had a fantastic podcast episode on nailing interviews.

Andy Frisella said something recently: That he would trade spots with an 18 year old today with the access young people have to technology. When someone wildly successful says they would start again today, even with everything happening in the world, it makes you want to wake up and take advantage of everything we have around us.

I finished the book on Didon and Babitz. One of the main things that stood out to me was this quote by Lili Andlin, “Joan was a predator who passed herself off as prey.” It made me wonder how many people present like this. We all know someone like this. The irony is that as far as dynamics go, we (collectively) often behave in ways that allow these people to retain that power. The dynamic only works if you allow yourself to be seduced. Anyway. Food for thought.

Ok, I will leave this here. My torso is on fire, and I am approaching my stop. Go kiss your washer for me and have a gratitude prayer. Peace and love.

Welcome, March!

Image via Pinterest.

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Happy March! We enter the month that invites an unstable spring into our lives.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. -Charles Dickens

It’s the season of spring break and someone hitting the brightness switch. If you turn on the news, the world is quite literally exploding (a lot happening)— but I am here to turn the dial back into nostalgia. Nostalgia has been tugging on me lately. Simpler times. It’s like now that we have so much technology, we can’t seem to get our sh*t together. It’s almost like we must do less now because stupidity hampers progress and execution.

You can’t even go on a trip without it turning into an episode of Survivor.

There are days when I miss wandering through St. Augustine, others where I miss camping, some days, I miss the ice cream at The Villages, some days, I miss a good run that fills the lungs up, and some days, I just miss that vibrant feeling of being surrounded by young families doing activities together (and no, this does not include city people with dogs— dogs are dogs, not children). NYC has a deficiency in healthy young families (this societal issue is a completely different problem for another post). I miss the families who went on bike rides together, you know? One gets tired of only witnessing the one mom on the train screaming at her toddler that she will kick his ass if he doesn’t behave. This is not the vibe.

Image via Pinterest.

There was a vibrancy to spring through the eyes of a child. Spring felt different, depending on where we were. But the truth is, no matter what it looked like, I loved it deeply.

Image via Ren Rose Lifestyle.

In Michigan, I remember the rains, robins and the explosions of tulips and daffodils. The clusters of daffodils were my favorites. The tornado warnings would start. The torrential rains would leave the running track covered in tiny pink worms lightly dusted with the darkest soil you had ever seen. We would start training for field day.

Image via Explore Charleston.

In South Carolina, there was a scent of moisture that would permeate our little school when the weather would grow damp and warm. The grass was greener, and the colors of the houses seemed brighter. The honeysuckle trees would load up, and we’d sit in the grass chewing on the tips of these sweet sweet flowers like little bees glued to their nectar. It was a time of pastel dresses and fun little hats. Camping and adventures.

A page out of the 1999 spring dELiA*S catalog.

In Ohio, suddenly, the gray skies would open up to sunshine, and the world looked different. The porches looked inviting, and the dirt would be dark with moisture, and the flowers would appear almost what felt like overnight. Suddenly, it was as bright as the dELiA*s spring collection catalog. It would be a time to return to the park; a return to the basketball courts. The arboretum stream was stronger; the geese were meaner.

Florida streets via Pinterest.

In Florida, the thawing was slight, but the world slowly colored itself green again. The brown dry grass would return to its gloss. In middle school, it was track season. We would run in circles until we couldn’t see straight anymore. The popular girls would complain, and Coach Thomas would make them run two more laps. For some reason, it was the season of peach deodorant for me as a kid. My gosh, I remember I had a peach gel deodorant with glitter in it. Why I needed sparkly underarms is beyond me. (I always did love a sparkle).

Spring in NYC via Pinterest.

Here in NYC, as an adult, I always impatiently await that moment where the trees load up with their flowers and fill us with wonder. It feels like a moment where young college dreamers and workaholic adults alike gather strength from the temporary gifted beauty that surrounds us. We stand under trees in hopes to get showered in petals in shades of white and pink.

At the smallest hint of sunshine, I would take myself to Washington Square Park in a skirt and expose my pale legs to start getting some vitamin D. Those escapades usually ended in me shivering my pale little legs back to my studio apartment.

What does spring invite you to do or remember? My coach, Dr. Edie Wadsworth wrote a beautiful post on her knitting, little Tom running track (nostalgic for me) and her son and his family due to have twins on Tuesday. It made me feel that spark of spring vibrancy. It was a post filled with life— zoe (ζωή), you know?

I think that it’s time to break routine and take more mid-day walks. Wear more color. Bust out the sunglasses. Play music from the early 2000s. Drink a fun iced drink (I tried a matcha cloud recently— it was lovely). Plot fun memories and events to attend. I have always said I believe adults should get a spring break. We need to craft our own collection of small joys.

Anytime you look around and think— the world is bonkers, remember that spring is arriving. It’s up to us to create the joy, the families, the memories, the traditions, the connection to nature, the outdoor excursions that make us feel ALIVE— it’s all up to us.

Image via Pinterest.

It’s up to us to plant something that will bloom and stand beneath the floral trees in wonder.

Thoughts and Favs from this Week 2.27.26

My mood, this week (image via Pinterest).

By: Gabriela Yareliz

The snow piles remain. Winter has us all about to fling ourselves on the snow piles in resignation. “Just leave me here,” we want to say. But “onward,” as someone who does nothing at work typically says to those doing the heavy lifting. Onward, indeed.

Today, I heard a clown horn (you know, the one that sounds like little circus music). I have no idea what is happening out there. On the bright side— it’s warm. It’s 35F and sunny, which is basically summer, here.

Dreaming of this kind of spring (image from Pinterest).

There should be a study on the workaholism that is ingrained in children that have lived to see the sacrifice of their families and felt it deeply. Immigrant families, families that aren’t wealthy, the families that put a lot on education. It’s something else— this work ethic. It’s not the same as people from different backgrounds who, in adulthood, don’t work and take their paycheck anyway. It’s a different dynamic. A different burden. It’s the responsibility that sucks the life out of you, where you can’t even take a vacation. A cure for this needs to be put forward. This is my petition.

All of us, yearning for spring.

This week, I stumbled upon Jungle Johanna (this is her IG handle). She is the first American person of color that I have seen as a Pilates instructor— and she is hilarious, bold, authentic, and she just sort of clicked with my soul. Take it from someone who has done Pilates for over a decade with many instructors— she is unique in this space. I have laughed through several of her classes on the Peloton app. She is great with form, and I am excited someone like her exists in the world. She ends her classes with her motto— “Do no harm; take no sh*t.” Enough said. Amen.

I wrote a postcard this week. This is your PSA to send out snail mail.

I saw this outfit and loved it. Tracy Tutor’s IG. Everything I loved as a kid, big sunglasses, wide pants and platform sandals.

This week, build an outfit made up of the things you loved when you were thirteen.

Vita Sidorkina is launching something big on Monday… here we are all hoping it’s a workout platform that will guide us to her aspirational routine…

The fabulous mother of two.

The weekend has arrived! Let’s go! Be cheerful and bask in the sunshine. Read a book. Take a deep breath. Wash your coat (I did). Let the slush melt away.

Spring continues to inch closer and closer. Hurrah!

I enter the weekend like this little mouse. Image via Pinterest, artist Genevra Bell.

Wisdom on Winning by Andy Frisella

Words by Andy Frisella:

“ASK YOURSELF…

HOW CAN YOU INSPIRE THE NEXT GENERATION OF WINNERS IF THEY DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT WINNING LOOKS LIKE?

THEY DONT KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE BECAUSE THE REAL WINNERS DONT SHOW THEIR LIVES OR TELL THEIR STORIES

BECAUSE THEY GET SO MUCH STATIC ABOUT IT.

HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT ABOUT

WHY CULTURE VILIFIES & SHAMES SUCCESS?

WHERE THAT COMES FROM AND WHY?

WHAT PURPOSE THAT SERVES AND FOR WHOM?

LET ME ASK YOU SOMETHING ELSE:

DO YOU THINK ITS EASIER TO CONTROL A GROUP OF HIGHLY AMBITIOUS, STRONG, DRIVEN, DISCIPLINED MEN WITH MASSIVE GOALS…

OR

IS IT EASIER TO CONTROL A BUNCH OF FAT, BROKE, LAZY, WEAK, COMPLACENT MEN WHO ARE ESSENTIALLY HOPELESS?

HOW WILLING DO YOU THINK A MAN IS TO FIGHT FOR HIS DREAMS IF HE CAN BE CONVINCED THERE IS NO HOPE?

DONT BE THEIR PAWN.

IF THERE WAS NO HOPE THEY WOULDNT GO THROUGH ALL THE TROUBLE TO CONVINCE YOU OF IT.

IF THERE WAS NO HOPE THEY WOULDNT HAVE TO DEMORALIZE ANYONE.

PERSONAL EXCELLENCE IS THE ULTIMATE REBELLION AND YOU ARE THE REVOLUTION YOU ARE WAITING FOR.

WIN.”

Keeping the Garden

Image via Pinterest.

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Spring arrives on March 20. I love spring. It always arrives right on time— when winter has beat us up and left us in a heaping pile like the inches of snow dropped on us.

Friday was exhausting. It was exacerbated by the anxiety that loomed over me when I realized I had missed my window to do laundry. It haunted me for 24 hours. The tension from the week came tumbling out on the mat. I can’t say I have cried often during a workout, but there is something that gets triggered when you expand the hips. It’s like something unlocks. If you have experienced it, you know. The pelvis holds so much emotion.

This past weekend, a matcha and a bad mood hit me out of nowhere like an electric shock. That night, I couldn’t fall asleep, and I stared through the blinds at the blinding grey light as the snow continued to fall. My bad mood propelled me to finish a book that had been dragging me along. Sometimes, we need to punctuate things. I had liked the book when I started it, but by page 400– I was like, this could have been an email.

My mind stayed racing for hours. (Don’t drink caffeine during your luteal phase— or if you are me, don’t drink caffeine— ever).

I am now reading a book about Eve Babitz and Joan Didion. (I like it!) There is something that always intrigues me about the 60s and 70s. The pivot from the 50s to those two decades feels like such a flip of a switch— sort of like my mood that night. Sort of like the seasons.

The next day, I waded out of my swampy habitation, and decided connection was better. Slow was ok. The flawed nature of it all (and my own flaws) shouldn’t make me sharp like the ice outside but should make me soften like water. It was time to melt.

I recently heard a wise Italian say that, at times, what we need is to say that some seed of a mood inside of us won’t take root. We acknowledge it, and we pluck it up like a bird would and throw it out of the garden. Spring reminds us of the green that starts poking out of the ground. The new. The soft. The colorful. The watered. The pruned.

The resilient.

Image via Pinterest.

Character Defined

“Your character is how you absorb what has happened to you; how you absorb reality; how you absorb the world. Who you choose to be in response to everything you did not choose.” Erwin McManus