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.

Thoughts for March

“There are no traffic jams on the extra mile.” Zig Ziglar

By: Gabriela Yareliz

One learns this pretty quickly if one is paying attention in life.

As Sahil Bloom says, “Talent and intelligence are abundant. Courage is not.” (I am not sure I agree intelligence is abundant, but we will give Sahil a pass).

As we start a new month filled with many opportunities— where can we show courage? Where can we go the extra mile? Where can we extend our tolerance for discomfort to reap the rewards?

February 2025 Recap

By: Gabriela Yareliz

We made it to Friday, but also, to the end of February. January lasted 400 years, and February lasted a week.

As I write to you, I am gripping an ice cold poll in a subway car reflecting on the month gone by, wearing an oversized WeWoreWhat sweater because I am beyond caring today. I was in a meeting with the boss yesterday, and he was wearing a hoodie, so I took that as permission.

A lot of old posts got a bunch of views, this month. The month’s top post was the one dedicated to my husband for his birthday— which is super sweet.

The book that had me stunned this month was Chaos, with a close second to Originals. I have become a full-on Adam Grant fan.

This month was brutally cold. News reports show that some weeks in NYC were colder than Alaska, which made me think of my best friend from my time in Charleston— fellow Air Force brat, Jackie. She was from Alaska, and I believe she made her way back. Jackie, wherever you are— love you, girl. Giggle Gang forever. We were hilarious. We both determined we could and would be comedians, and we were hilarious. Every day, we walked to and from school listening to Shakira’s first English album.

Back to NYC— the weather has warmed up. I can feel my face (though jury is still out regarding my hands because of this ice cold poll on the train).

I am dreaming of spring already. I want rainy days followed by sunshine and tulips everywhere, you know?

After an intense month— my rec is matcha and Theo Von in the mornings (matcha gives energy (until it doesn’t!!), and Theo gives laughs while everyone else is pissed on the subway). Pilates and ginger tea in the evenings. Ginger tea was everything, this month. My husband made me so much ginger tea when I lost my voice. I was voiceless for February guys. Only said half the words I could have. I have some regrets, ha. Talking would drain me of energy. And then, there is that thing where you speak and no one understands you, so you have to repeat it in a louder tone, and by then, I was fully drained of the ounce of energy conserved from the rest of my silence.

It’s back, though. March will be here, and I will be louder than ever. Watch out, world.

We were fortunate to worship with Mosaic, this month. It was a deep reminder of what makes us human— being created in the image of God.

So, no matter what you face today or beyond today— know that this matters, and He is with you. You carry His image and power.

A seat opened up! Two hand typing— let’s go! But I am done with this post— so weird timing. I will always take the seat, though.

Off I go to thaw my hands and laugh with some Theo nonsense. Last day of February. Boom.

The Capsule

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I saw her sitting on a bench on the train platform in what looked like shredded pajamas. She sat there with a satin looking shower cap on her head, surrounded by clumps of mashed potatoes. At least five clumps. She sat there smiling to no one in particular.

The people on the platform and later trapped in close proximity in the train car were like a collection of misfits or forgotten toys pieced together. Like when a mini Barbie’s head pops off and you stick another doll’s head on it.

So many perfumes dancing together. Body odor. Some people wealthy and others not. People with friends, gesturing wildly with their hands to show off their jewelry. The metal clinking together. Some flirting, with a push of a hair strand behind the ear. One man is crying out like he is being hurt by some invisible force. He is mostly ignored. We make eye contact.

A small Hispanic woman starts mumbling an unintelligible (in any language) garble offering candies, one can only assume. She sounds like a machine. Repeating a senseless noise over and over again. No pause. She wears a tight tank top with tiny roses. A timeless pattern that looks like it could be from now or 1997. A tall black man holds his watch up to his face with a giant slightly psychopathic grin. He just holds up his wrist for twenty minutes straight. The smile never breaks.

A guy who definitely works in finance avoids eye contact and tries to move away from the short haired woman sitting very close to him reading a book about Bob Dylan that is a neon yellow and looks about 20 pages long. Suddenly, it smells like pot. I am annoyed.

One woman’s unnatural wig is hanging by a thread. An elderly man is texting on his 2001 flip phone.

Everyone so different. A different world. All of us in this capsule barreling through the tunnel just trying to make it to our destination. Everyone just trying to make it home.

Orange Water

“Don’t forget to look up.” Ren

By: Gabriela Yareliz

My head was down. I was reading. I missed a train stop earlier this week because my head was down.

I was on the train going over the bridge when I looked up. The sky was orange. It was so orange that the water looked orange. Everything but the silhouette of the bridge was orange. It was impressive. Like the sky was on fire. It was beautiful. I almost looked back down and kept reading. But I didn’t. I watched the sky across the entire bridge. A man who was standing kept watching my face and glancing out of the window. Eventually, the majority of our train car was watching the sunset.

In law school, my good friend Ren and I would walk for miles. He would often run (even in the winters), but he would take the time to wander with me. We were both not from NYC, so walking was a task in exploration. Sometimes, I would happen to look up and see some beautiful part of a building I had passed a million times. I would chat about it with awe. My surprise was often when I looked up.

He gave me a book on walking, and in it, he wrote a reminder that I should always look up.

Today, I did. And it was worth it. The water was orange, and I have never seen anything like it.

Let Them

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Humans— we are strange little creatures. We try to sometimes give advice— that often fails. We try to pretend like we are the exception to the rule— that often fails. We pressure others and ourselves— that often fails.

I have been reading Mel Robbins’ Let Them Theory and reflecting on the many moments in a day when I break this theory. We all do. I don’t know why it’s so hard to accept we only control one thing— our own life (and even that has its limits based on circumstances, at times).

Let them… and let me. It needs to be a bootcamp.

Nobel

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Alfred Nobel is known for the Nobel Peace Prize— the Swedish chemist also invented dynamite. ⚡️

Perhaps lasting peace is only possible by those willing and ready to create a destructive explosion— maybe this is the only way it has integrity. Otherwise, it is just cowardice or an inability to act with a side of built up resentment. A postponed reaction, if you will.

As I have been reading Originals by Adam Grant, it seems it’s the disagreeable, those willing to confront and start fires with their personalities that become the greatest advocates and channels for change.

We shouldn’t lose our dynamite. Sometimes, the spark of dynamite is the path to a better tomorrow.

Winter Hydration PSA

By: Gabriela Yareliz

This is your PSA to hydrate your eyes, this winter. We don’t often think about eye hydration, but boy do we feel the dryness in the winter. Here in the city, the salt that gets ground into powder on the streets blows into your face every time the wind blows.

We slather on the lotion— don’t forget your eyes. It’s part of self-care.