A Rothbart World

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Rumors of a recession swirl. Our economy has been in a bubble for far too long. Is it time for the long awaited pop and self-correction? Let’s be real, in many ways this has been inevitable. What we chose in the last election was who we want to lead us out of it. It’s time to buckle up. The bubble does have to burst. It’s an inevitable consequence of reckless spending and decisions.

Mahmoud Khalil is fighting deportation. People have been deported for a lot less. People do realize that people with visas can be turned away at the border or point of entry for any reason. Immigration can be an arbitrary thing. Now, it’s a free speech issue. Or is it? It will be interesting to see this play out.

Investigative journalism is back. I have been deep into the Candace Owens Harvey Weinstein series. As I follow different wild timelines and cases, a few things become apparent… things are never what they seem. Take that to the bank with you.

Another common thread is that absent parents mark people in wild ways. For example, so many women who end up seeking older men and exchanging their bodies for things (jobs, security, validation)— most had no fathers. Many of these women become abusers and “victims.” In many ways, people learn to victimize themselves through choices. We do the best we can with what we have, but sometimes our best really fails. Many men who become abusers also have an absent parent. An absent parent wreaks havoc on the universe— often times when the child grows up to be an adult who has not processed or coped with that absence. It shapes our society and certainly the focus of our legal system in many ways. The chain reaction of lives altered by this simple fact becomes WILD. And none of it is justified. It just is. A simple observation. Life after life often destroyed or deeply shaped and so much suffering because someone who should have been there wasn’t.

I keep thinking back to that movie, The Swan Princess, where the villain, Rothbart, flips his cape and he tells the naive, shallow, dumb prince (our hero) that not everything is what it seems. A profound lesson to learn in childhood. Even more life-altering as an adult. It’s truer than true.

The Idea of Balance

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I keep hearing about the idea of balance. Does it exist? Is it real? Most entrepreneurs say no. Most parents of young children say no. Some people who work 9-5 say yes. I guess balance (if it exists) rides the waves. I guess, though, if it comes in seasons that are sprinkled sporadically, it isn’t the definition of balance. Balance is about proportionality and all things being equal.

I think the more intertwined your life is with others (even if they are clients or family), the less balance you are likely to have. People inevitably hijack your time, sometimes, even unintentionally. Like when your kid is vomiting at 4 am, making your day look very different than what you initially planned.

Is balance worth it? If it does exist, what are we sacrificing for it?

Time is the one thing we don’t ever get back. To me, it makes sense we would go after things like a hungry dog because the next breath isn’t promised. The idea of living to the hilt probably throws balance off a cliff. But then there is the argument that the balanced person who has time for a coffee and staring off in space is really the one living.

Then, there is the argument that only those who go through seasons of high acceleration (unbalanced stretches) are the only ones who truly relax in that coffee-stare-off moment.

We talk a lot about balance, but sometimes, the way people describe it sounds very pie-in-the-sky— in other words, not real.

Is balance aspirational? Does it prejudice us to aspire to it?

Does anyone know? Probably not.

Goalie

Image via NHL Buzz

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Goalies— their job is to go against any human instinct to duck or avoid a hit— their job is to block and take the hits. It goes against all human instincts to avoid pain or direct impact.

Sometimes in life, to get the job done right, we have to go against all of our natural instincts and what is familiar. At times, it won’t be about avoiding the hits, but we have to block and take things on. Don’t allow the other team to score. Victory is found in taking the hits.

Edge

“But what WE CANNOT AFFORD TO is to NOT have an edge. A unique set of skills a lá Liam Neeson that sets ourselves apart from the rest.” Jesus Enrique Rosas

I was a fan of The TIG, when Meghan Markle wasn’t completely insufferable (years and years ago). I have zero desire to see her new show or follow her in any way now. Why? Because Rosas is right in his latest newsletter The Lesson I Learned From Watching Meghan’s Snoozefest— she has no edge (unless her narcissism counts). People who present like Markle are, well, boring.

People who want to be perceived as perfect are boring. Rosas is right, we all need edge. Real edge. We need to be real. Otherwise– are we alive?

What gives you edge? How have you lost edge? How can you cultivate what sets you apart from the rest?

Bubbles

Image via Reddit

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Stories are everywhere. There are layers and layers of them that we have to chew through. In some places, they are easy to see. In others, you have to work a bit harder. You have to wait a bit longer. It’s like chewing through those gummy bears that are (I swear) made of rubber. Some stories take longer to come apart. Sometimes, they leave you full, and other times, they leave you empty and buzzing like an afternoon crash followed by caffeine jitters.

No matter where you are, the stories will bubble to the surface if you are patient. If you keep scratching like a matcha whisk, the bubbles will rise.

I was standing there gripping the poll, all sorts of tired. I knew I had adjusted something on my boot, and I was reminding myself to not touch my face after that. I desperately needed to wash my hands. Underground on a crowded train, that opportunity doesn’t exist. I was reminding myself because I was unfocused and tired. Not just tired, but almost-sticks-a-flosser-pick-in-my-ear-thinking-it’s-a-Q-tip tired. I feel the clasp on my skirt digging into my side. Am I breathing? I wonder. I decide that I am breathing.

Finally, a seat opens up. I sit down and look at the bench across the way. There is a man, a strong man who looks like he works as a contractor or something. He is wearing a denim jacket with an American flag stitched to the left arm sleeve. He glances up at me from whatever he is making. He is knitting. I notice he is wearing a thick knit sweater. The man probably knit that too, I think. He has big green eyes and curly hair. His eyes fall back to his knitting needles. I stare because I have never seen this before. Suddenly, the wrong doors to the train car open. I quickly turn to see who is subway surfing while we are speeding down the underground tunnel. I expect to see youths with a death wish. A tall man with white hair and a thick leather jacket walks by. He has definitely killed someone, I think to myself. He walks down the middle of the subway car glancing at all of us, like he is studying us. He only sways to move past the polls in the middle of the car. He never stops. He keeps walking. Onto the next car. We exhale.

“Good evening,” a black man in a hat croons to us via microphone. He sets down his speaker. “You don’t have to give me money, just a smile,” he says. I feel the collective cringe of the car as we wait to see what this performance will be like. “Stay blessed,” he says reminding me of that one New Girl episode.

He starts singing, and he is incredibly good. The man should have a record deal. An elderly Russian lady looks up from a crossword and starts swaying and smiling at the music from her seat. A man sits next to me in a gray coat and continues to slide off of the blue seat. Eventually, he splats his hands on both sides of him as stops from the sliding. He holds himself up, weirdly, while trying to hide he is doing so. His feet touch the ground, so I am not exactly sure what is going on with this sliding man. He is probably on drugs.

A young couple stands near the door holding pale wooden chairs. They look around embarassed, as if they are taking up too much space. It’s rush hour. They are. Most of us ignore them. An asian girl grips a large poster board that shrieks school project. The music stops, and the singer moves his speaker. A woman flutters her hands around to dry the nail polish she just applied. It’s not her color. An older Chinese woman is smacking a younger woman and yelling at her loudly in Chinese. We assume that is her daughter, crying. “What the f*** was that?” a middle eastern man says brushing past them in his puffy coat, shaking his head. The man next to me is gripping the seat like his life depends on it.

When you look closely, you can see things like the glance of contempt, the pursing of the lips, the word mumbled under the breath, the giggle in the inappropriate place. The stories around us require us to be awake to the details. Life requires us to be awake. When we are, we notice the stories everywhere. Faces and faces come bubbling up to the surface. Little mysteries expand and pop when the time is right.

Stay blessed.

Seasons

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Spring reminds us that rebirth is upon us, and the future is around the corner. We can’t skip seasons, and we can’t skip chapters. Through the good and the bad, we keep going. Through the uncertainties we push through. When the page is blank, we grab the pen.

Our power rests in our creativity, in our vision for what is past this, in our faith that all things work together for good for those who love God.

Stay fully alive. Dream on. Winter is melting into spring and more lies beyond what we can see.

Six Months

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I keep coming across this thought— six months. Where will we be in six months? Anything is possible. Your current circumstance is not permanent.

Today, no matter what you are going through, I urge you to take care of yourself, and do something that nourishes your spirit. When things get hard, remember that six months from now, things will be different. They can be different. They can be worlds away from anything happening now.

Where will you be six months from now? Whenever you feel discouraged, think— six months. Let’s go!

The Library

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Few places held the magic of a library for me when I was a kid. It’s still a revered temple for the mind. A sacred space.

The library, for me, was a place of safety inside of new school after new school. I sought it out, no matter how small. In South Carolina, our school library was an old musty locked up room, with a door that would split open horizontally, the bottom acting like a gate or counter. Sometimes, the librarian would find me on the floor in a corner reading a book that was so old it was almost falling apart in my hands. There was a red cloth book on the history of slavery that I used to read a lot. It was an antique. That thing was definitely out of print. The library was a place of entertainment— I was a magazine girl, so the glossy plastic covered magazines were magnets for me. The amount of magazine quizzes I took with a scrap piece of lined paper and a dull pencil. It was a place of nostalgia but also the new.

I will never forget the library at The University of Florida with the moving shelves. It was pure delight. I was like Belle.

NYC libraries are open during limited business hours. It’s a shame. The impact a library can have on a child or even an elderly person is massive. It impacts the community at large.

In rural areas, libraries were the place where we had limited (and timed) internet access. In a time before smart phones, it was the limited 25 minutes where one could check one’s email. (I remember the timer at the bottom, a countdown). There, I found literature in other languages and foreign films that sparked the mind.

I miss libraries filled with good books. Bookstores were a close second but even that barely exists. In a world of Kindles (which I love) and digital book purchases, we miss out on the library magic. (And book quality has severely declined— character building books are harder to find).

This book was a childhood favorite. I wanted to be a book hoarder just like the main character.

Without libraries, we miss out on the safe spaces that make us better people, explorers, adventures, learners, scientists of life. There is something to be said about the act of sharing literature. It’s a posture. The absence of a good library leaves us with no choice but to build our own home library.

We carve out the space because once you know the magic, life can’t be lived without it.