Summer Stage

By: Gabriela Yareliz

There is this 1 train that has a set of doors that don’t work. The local stop side opens fine, so you get on and don’t suspect a thing. Then, you get to the express stop, and only one opens, and the other door just stonewalls you. It’s always that awkward moment when I go to step out, and it doesn’t open. The person on the other side often just starts tugging on the unmovable door. It doesn’t open. I was on that train three times last week. It was always the express stop surprise. Always almost walking into the stiff unopened door. But I digress.

As I exited through the door that does open, passing through the agitated and annoyed people waiting for us to exit so they can go in, I was reminded of Summer Stage. Maybe it’s all the U.S. Open promotions happening on train and station ads, or the haze of smoke I had to walk through to get to my delayed train.

Summer Stage. Maybe they still do this, but back when I was in law school, there was a Summer Stage in Central Park that would host a series of concerts. I went to the French music concert day, and it was basically a haze of smoke. I should have expected it, but I hadn’t. When I arrived, I walked through the haze precariously stepping over the attendees who were sitting on the floor with their wine, cheese and an abundance of cigarettes. Sounds cliché, but this is exactly what happened.

The smoke was so insane, I left after like three sets. I could barely see the stage or breathe properly. There are new experiences that stay with us, partially due to the absurdity of the experience.

NYC is definitely a place of absurd summer. The heat, the trash everywhere, the crowds, the trains with the heater on, the fact that people vape on public transport and act like the cloud of smoke is invisible, and they are really sneaky.

As the weather gets cooler, we are all over the absurdity of the NYC summer. The time has come for change.

Transmitting Feeling

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I saw The Aviator recently (for the first time). I think the most impressive parts of the film are the details that make the viewer feel what he is feeling. When he focuses on the bright lights; the photographer bulbs exploding; the crunch of the broken glass; the blueprints flashing through his mind; the chaotic projector images; the flashbacks to other events. Without these moments, we are left as outside observers, and he just seems crazy. With these moments, we grow to understand him.

There is a gift in transmitting feeling. I don’t think it’s something everyone can do, but some can. We experience these gifts through watching a well-done film, reading someone’s heartfelt writing, witnessing a work of art that takes our breath away. The things that transmit such depth of knowledge or feeling that we often can’t articulate— those are gifts. The world needs more of that which deepens understanding. If you have this gift, share it.

The Violence of Growth

“Growth is violent like that. It doesn’t happen without endings. Without death. Without the parts of you that are clinging to control finally being ripped away.

So I’ll ask you: how many times have you already died? And maybe… the next chapter of your growth is waiting for you on the other side of the version of you that doesn’t want to die.” Aggie Lal

By: Gabriela Yareliz

This made me reflect. Growth, we often say, is painful. But Aggie is right— there is a type of growth that is violent. It shatters you into powder. It’s like a chemical reaction that is irreversible. It is meant to make you mourn an old version of you.

If you are going through something that feels like death, remember that there is another chapter on the other side of it. Growth— it isn’t always beautiful, and it is in no way neat, but growth equals life. Like a child finding its way into puberty.

So when you feel the pain or the death of an old you, remember that the fact that you can feel that deep in your bones means you are very much alive.

In a world where so many are numb— grow, live, be born again. ✨

August Mini-Friday Note

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I saw somewhere that a company wants to bring landlines back for children. I like it. It reminds me of spending hours on the phone with a friend. It’s a formative time. Screens don’t invite children to live real life.

I am sitting on a train (I swear I spend most of my time under something— underwater at work or underground in a train). Everyone looks annoyed. Maybe it’s the rain.

Did you know people actually play those little Candy Crush games? I didn’t think so, but apparently, it’s a thing.

I see less people with those little monsters clipped to their bags. Are we emerging from something?

The weather feels like fall. I have on suit shorts (like the kind you can wear to work and with a blazer), a long sleeve shirt, and Hunter boots on. Nothing says in-between like a half-and-half wardrobe.

I read somewhere else that winter may arrive as soon as October to NYC. I wonder if it’s true. I wonder where I get my information.

The train conductor announces a next stop in Brooklyn, but we are in Manhattan going in the opposite direction. He corrects himself. We all exhale.

I have a Bagel Pub bagel my husband got me. I am excited for this treat. It is the ray of sunshine in the middle of useless meetings where I know nothing will be resolved because that is what people do— waste other’s time.

A man on this train woke up and chose flavored water. I think back at when I was eight and would gravitate toward strawberry bubbly water. Who knows what I was actually drinking.

Isn’t it weird how some things that are “normal” to us one day become a “never again”? I am not sure exactly when that happens, but it does.

It’s Thursday. Or as we call it around here— mini Friday. I am ready— boots, bagel and all.

True Love

By: Gabriela Yareliz

There is an elderly Asian couple that rides the morning train with me. The man has a walker with wheels that turns into a seat. He moves slowly. His wife always holds him firmly but gently, and sometimes, kisses his face under his baseball cap. Her arm is always around him. I absolutely adore commuting with them.

Via @bridget

If you know Bridget, founder of The Bar, she is currently battling cancer. We have all witnessed her husband of two years dress her, dance with her, glam her up for chemo, get her treats, lift her spirits— unconditional loving care. Her account isn’t about beauty or fashion— it is an undeniable illustration of love.

I saw this with my mother-in-law and father-in-law. I have seen my husband care of his parents with so much grace and deep love.

It’s my mom’s presence who never left, no matter how hard it got or how much she could have gained without us.

Every time I see these people in action, aside from praying for them, I am reminded of something powerful— it’s the true image and manifestation of love.

It’s this simple. It’s something deep and steadfast. It’s the arm that upholds you when it’s all falling apart— sometimes, when you are falling apart. It’s the steady and dependable person who keeps showing up.

Sometimes, we make love something else. We think it’s elaborate. Something that must be spicy. Something that requires some special recipe that some people are not capable of because they are so self-absorbed.

But it’s simple. It’s supernatural. It’s the one who serves and gives all.

When we see it, it is undeniable. Because in it, we see the face of God.

Worth

“You can’t govern how people treat you or the things they say, but you can absolutely decide what you will do with the gospel that nothing is personal and people are limited.” Tara Schuster

I loved these quotes from Tara Schuster’s work. It’s so true. It applies in all relationships— family, work, romantic, etc.

“People are limited.” We are the ones who decide what someone’s treatment means. Dr. Edie Wadsworth often says a lot of suffering comes from the stories we tell ourselves.

What story are you telling yourself today?

Lessons in Matcha

“The true gift of matcha is the ritual: the quiet, deliberate preparation, the grounding presence of whisking, the mindful act of drinking. It is nourishment for body, mind, and spirit alike.” Candice Kumai

By: Gabriela Yareliz

We went to the best matcha place in NYC. The place is always a vibe. It’s a different level of calm. Like slipping on noise-cancelling headphones. There is always a line, but there is also always one person manning the tea station. There is one kettle. One metal ladle. There is the little wooden matcha spoon. The tea maker scoops, measures, and whisks as if he/she is alone in the room. Not a care, and no rush.

As I watched him, I thought to myself that I wanted that level of slow and calm.

“We’re chill,” he said when someone approached him with urgency.

The tea ritual that requires so much presence teaches us to be a little bit more human.