Urban Dictionary defined it after the show New Girl coined the term (thank you, Nick Miller). “Goosebumps walkaway” is the line a guy says to the girl before he walks away forever that leaves her with goosebumps and haunts her forever, in a movie. The show’s episode named “Goosebumps Walkaway” is the one where Nick is trying to figure out what one line to leave with Reagan before she catches her flight.
Have you ever left someone with one line? Has someone given you last words that give you goosebumps to this day?
Words are powerful. They aren’t just letters arranged on a page or in a sentence. Words can haunt us. That may be one of my favorite things about words– not that they haunt us but that they can make us feel something. They drench us with the emotion they carry. Words can give us goosebumps, and they can last and stay with us forever. And if the bad ones can stay with us and haunt us, the good ones can last and elevate us, too.
Today, say some vibrant words to someone. Leave someone with goosebumps. In all reality, we never know which words may be our last. Arrange the letters with care.
“All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.” T. E. Lawrence
May we always seek to be fully alive and dreaming with open eyes. There are times when our souls and imaginations feel completely blocked or murky like a stagnant pond. These moments where we sink in the mire are often the alarms sounding on us, letting us know we have succumbed to a lesser version of ourselves. We are following instead of leading. We are copying instead of kneading a new version of ourselves. We are drifting instead of deciding.
Gabrielle Caunesil photographed by @nicholas.fols
“When imagination returns, it means we are back in our body,” Tess Guinery writes in The Apricot Memoirs. When imagination returns, we return to the surface and float. We are dreaming; we are scheming; we are breathing. We are dangerous in a world that wants us dead because we are fully alive.
[My anthem below and the favorite dreamy Sunday Girl posts are returning to grace this page. Jam out with me, friends.]
“O, Sunlight! The most precious gold to be found on Earth.” Roman Payne
By: Gabriela Yareliz
Feeling golden. I spent about 30 minutes just lying in the sunshine that was streaming in through the windows, this morning. It was 20F outside but toasty and sunny in my apartment. This week’s sunbathing reminded me of how lovely it is to just sit and do nothing. You know, like a woman in a Jane Austen novel (the rich ones, who sat and wrote letters by rainy windows and had tea). Doing nothing is something I am bad at, and I am aiming to improve this art (see, I always have to be doing something).
Today, I just let the sun hit me, and it was yummy. Thirty minutes may not seem like a lot (or it may– for me, it was)– but even if you just take ten minutes and stop and do nothing and just sit with yourself, you’ll find some magic.
This week, another thing that was great for the mind and body were these two practices from my yoga/pilates challenge (I really don’t know the difference between yoga and pilates since the movements are the exact same and called the same, in my personal experience). Just as with sunbathing, taking even just ten minutes to move makes a huge difference in how you feel. This morning, a simple stretch that seemed stupid to me ended up being something I desperately needed.
So shed the pride (in my case), pressure, busyness and some articles of clothing. Do nothing. Then, get moving (I am leaving my favs here for you, in case you want a little mindful movement after some sunbathing). Stay golden.
“Does the acorn dream of the oak? And if it doesn’t, from where is the whisper of spring?” Sophie Ward (From The Love River)
Image via @sonamkapoor
By: Gabriela Yareliz
It’s a quiet morning, with the exception of the gurgling of the radiator and my screaming neighbors (they are positively unwell or just typical New Yorkers). We go through moments of icy floor chill, and then moments of bursting heat break forth (and I sit here fanning myself like a rural Alabama churchgoer). I feel a bit drowsy after my intense cleaning session yesterday evening (took down five bags of recycling). The kitchen is next. I have noticed an old empty cabinet, where the wall has cracks and little cockroaches have made an exclusive amusement park out of the black bait boxes. (#annoyed) This Six Flags is shutting down.
This morning, I woke up with a longing for spring. Maybe, it’s because there is no bright sunshine today or it’s my Amaryllis bulbs that are in full bloom, pomp and display on my little window-side table. I love the brightness and renewal spring brings. Maybe it’s the symbolic hope that fills me with longing after a new year start that has felt very much like a part II of the same chapter book that commenced with 2020. Perhaps it’s naive to think spring will be any different, but I hope against hope.
Image via Manhattan Womens Club
My mind goes to the Easter service we typically have at Central Park that I am always late to because the NYC train system decides to be full-on possessed on Easter Sunday. Sunshine, green grass, ambitious picnickers with their baguettes– gahh. My mind is there. I am there with the trees loaded with pink flowers and tulips and daffodils gracing our lives with their little stretches, showing us a new morning.
But for now, we curl up in winter’s slow slumber. While the season invites us to rest, life has our minds spinning. Life has, for better or worse, turned us into little insomniacs.
Today, I am sharing one of those anecdotes one simply does not forget from Born Standing Up, the bio by Steve Martin on his (brilliant) career in comedy. (I am a big fan). The book has a monochrome cover image with the title and his name in bright, sans serif yellow letters.
In the chapter “The Road”, he recalls when he performed at Vanderbilt University in Nashville. After he was done with his act, the packed room didn’t budge. He was confused and knew he needed to pack up his props and things– and the only way out was past the students. He looked at them and let them know, “It’s over.” Nobody moved. He started making little humorous comments and walking by students, and he wandered into the hallway. The students followed him into the hallway. Martin then walked outside, and the students continued to follow him. Finally, he came across an empty pool, and he told the student audience, “Everybody into the pool!” and they went into the pool.
Martin tells us, “Then I said I was going to swim across the top of them, and the crowd knew exactly what to do: I was passed hand over hand as I did the crawl.” (pg 140) He says his comedy entered new territory that night, and it felt free and unpredictable.
As I was reading this, I was laughing at the mental picture– this visual of Steve Martin essentially crowd surfing in an empty pool with students. Epic. It was a colorful story on a white page filled with black ink words and black and white photos. This story was bold yellow, like the letters on the cover.
Perhaps monochrome is elegant, classic; maybe at times it can be lifeless, and at other times it holds a needed place in the middle of color. Life can be very much monochrome. I know so many of us have felt that in lockdown after lockdown. But here is a reminder that even within the circumstances, it’s up to us to add the dashes of freedom and streaks of color to the page. If we dare, we may find ourselves in new territory.
“Everybody into the pool!” Steve Martin, Born Standing Up, pg 140
“Fabrics don’t make exquisite dresses, it is the stitches.” Treasure Stitches
By: Gabriela Yareliz
I haven’t sat down to sew in a long time. Sewing was a part of my childhood. My mom sewed and hemmed her pants and such. My grandmother would come and take over the dining room table with our sewing machine and make me beautiful dresses that easily rivaled anything in any store. (My favorite was a white dress with a square neck and a navy ribbon that lined the collar– it made me look like a mariner).
I took Home Economics (Home Ec) in the 7th grade. We learned to cook, sew and carry around a fake baby. We heard horror stories of kids that had accidentally sewn their own fingers with the machine and had wandered off into the hallway in a state of shock. I made a pillow case (it was a white fabric with green little shamrocks– don’t ask why I chose this. Maybe it was the cheapest fabric, maybe I was feeling lucky, or maybe it was just the funkiest thing I could find); I made a couple of other random things I am sure I treasured, and we made the parent breakfast. Then, the next semester we took Industrial Arts, where I made a wooden shelf and toaster tongs, all on my own. (I kept the absurd goggles from this class– still have them. For some reason they are among my treasured possessions). This was the class I was taking around my birthday, and my mom sent me balloons (it was magical to get balloons delivered in class), and I nervously kept eyeing them to make sure they didn’t get close to any of our saws during that period. Kids can be vicious. I kept them close. I was glowing.
I remember a good amount of time in Home Ec was spent ripping the stitches out with our little blue handle seam rippers. The seams needed to be straight. I wasn’t at home making my American Girl doll a skirt or patching a purse I refused to throw away. Nope. This needed to be right. I was being graded. We would sit together in little clumps and seam rip. There was a comfort in knowing we were in this torture together. Even though we were being graded on our pillow case stitches, it wasn’t perfection that was expected but good faith effort. They knew we were only like 12.
Good faith effort– the kind of effort we should put into life. We don’t need perfection, but hey, maybe we should take a pause and evaluate the stitches. Are they straight? And if not, we should know there is no shame in stopping to rip some stitches to start again. We can sit together and seam rip. The shamrock pillow case is worth it. You are worth it. Don’t be afraid to start the stitch line again.
It’s not uncommon to desire and strive for greatness.
*Cue Kanye West’s song “Stronger” /Bow in the presence of greatness/*
One of the Battle Ready podcast conversations discussed how we often fail to recognize greatness and scoff at people who have accomplished things we can’t even dream of. We can be so judgy and noncelebratory with other’s achievements. Why not recognize greatness? Why not strive for true greatness? What is true greatness?
“We should never confuse fame with greatness. The former is about what you do for yourself; the latter is about what you do for others,” Erwin McManus wrote in his book Wide Awake.
True greatness in life is about what we do for others. If we are a part of Jesus’ revolution of love on the move here on earth, then people will be our greatest priority and serving them will be our greatest joy and accomplishment.
Over time, we either become soft or hard, I was reminded as I studied scripture. Sometimes, scripture describes the heart as either hard or soft, or sometimes, it describes it as soil (for the plant lovers).
How can we tell where we fall on the texture scale? One might think it’s something invisible to the eye, but on the contrary, it pours out of us. I’d say it’s a mix of how we respond to something or someone greater than us (in this case, God, Himself) and the virtues we may (or may not) possess.
A hard heart is defined by a continual ignoring of God’s voice to the heart, pride, selfishness, the delusion of grandeur. While a soft heart is one that is humble enough to be molded and guided. A soft heart recognizes its place in the universe and its shortcomings in front of a perfect and holy God.
What is important to note is that both hard and soft hearts are spoken to by God in scripture, but only the soft-hearted accept the voice’s prodding and instruction. Only the good, soft soil allows the seed to take root and be planted. Our heart’s texture is our choice, from moment to moment.
We live in a world where people are desperately seeking guidance or some kind of affirmation, whether it’s from astrology and their sign, crystals and earthy elements, the moon, personality tests– we seek affirmation. An uncertain today and tomorrow scare the daylights out of us, and we are left in darkness. Strangely, we often seek affirmation from something within our own realm (something created like us or something created by us), but the idea of God speaking to us either threatens our illusion of control or seems unattractive to us for some reason. We often fail to realize it is the greatest privilege. Instead of reading a horoscope written by someone with your same anxieties, what if instead of some blanket statement that could apply to anyone or placing crystals in the reflected light provided to us in the dark by a created rock in the sky (it doesn’t even supply its own light)– maybe our anxieties would lessen if we remembered that the God of the unvierse speaks to us in our unique circumstances, individually. He has a message for you.
Photo via @dreamingincollages and @indg0
In the sweet and sacred moments of the mundane, will we be soft enough to be smoothed into something that can reflect holiness? The universe is loud with distractions; discern His soft voice in its midst.
Gwen Stefani with No Doubt band mate. Image via Tumblr.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
For those of us who grew up in the 90s-2000s, pop had such a big influence on us. There were the classic pop artists, like Britney Spears, Mandy Moore and Jessica Simpson. These were the sweet, bubblegum, “wholesome” idols of the age. We loved them.
Then, there were the slightly edgier ones like Christina Aguilera (later called Xtina) and Jennifer Lopez (later called JLo).
Jennifer Lopez via Tumblr
Then, there was a separate class of artist– the one that was extra unique and dared. They were eclectic and unapologetic. I loved this type of artist. In Spanish, I was a fan of Paulina Rubio and Shakira (when she had that bright red hair. If you know, you know). I loved watching Paulina Rubio music videos where she would tell her crummy boyfriends that she would send them to the moon on a rocket, and she would stroll onto the red carpet in these exaggerated fur-like coats. And Shakira… well, believe it or not I was an avid and pretty good impersonator of her old music. I would perform for the family. My grandfather got me her cassette for my 9th birthday.
Paulina Rubio image via GifSoup
Paulina Rubio via hawtcelebs.com
Shakira via Gfycat
Then, in English-language music, there was Pink and the iconic Gwen Stefani. I was a huge fan.
Pink via giffles
Pink being herself via Tumblr
These women’s music was always playing in the background of life, while growing up (whether it was radio, pep rallies at school and at the mall (the hangout place of every millennial in their youth)). What these women in this last category have in common (other than the fact that they all dyed their hair wild colors at some point) is they exhibited what was considered almost a masculine-feminine vibe as they were assertive, strong and seemed to not care what anyone thought about them. They didn’t encourage us to look like them, they encouraged us to look like ourselves.
Gwen Stefani via Bored Teachers
Growing up in a school environment where your status was often marked by your look– you know, we had the goths, punks, people with Dooney & Burke handbags and the ones who wore Abercrombie & Fitch (no idea how people could afford this)– I made my own looks from practical, nonpreppy classics. My look was not really branded (unless Arizona Jeans Co. counts or that awesome Mary-Kate and Ashley line at Walmart– loved this), so I knew early on I was gonna be known for my personality and not my JCPenney corduroy pants (JCP always has a special place in my heart, as this was my mom’s go-to store). I loved the idea that I didn’t belong to a box or brand, and there was no specific look I always had to project. I could look however I wanted to look on any given day. I am grateful I grew up like that. I once made my own version of this top from ABC Family’s TV show So Little Time. I cut a t-shirt and made it sleeveless and used Sharpie to write on it.
Mary-Kate Olsen via Fanpop
I was the girl who wore fishnet tights to church. Yep. Scandalous.
Fishnets were a classic of mine.
Before we moved to Florida to start our lives again (fresh start), I cut off all my hair into a pixie, like Mandy Moore in How to Deal, and as we arrived in the sunshine state, I got some purple hairspray, which didn’t even show up on my dark, dark hair. If you don’t believe I had moxie, take a look at this haircut below– I got it at the age of 13. This book and movie defined a huge chunk of my adolescence. I am grateful to it in many ways. It was sort of a life raft in the middle of a crazy and early loss of childhood. I owe Sarah Dessen (the author) a lot. Stories can empower us, make us bold and change us.
Mandy Moore in How to Deal
More from my adolescence– I once had someone from church ask me if I was depressed due to the fact that I wore black nail polish on my toenails. I was so tired of the inquiries that I just shrugged it off and let people believe what they wanted. (See, now it’s cool and mainstream to have black nails, and many women go to it as an easy color choice– back then, black nail polish was not so widely accepted). Ironically, there was nothing profound in my choice of black nail polish. I just thought it looked cool. It was different. I have always loved different. It captured my attention, when I saw Ashlee Simpson in the Pieces of Me music video. It was something that brought me joy when a lot in life was uncertain and crumbling. It’s not that I wore glitter on my face and black nail polish for attention; it was for me.
Gwen Stefani in Sweet Escape music video
Here we are, years later, and I am not wearing any nail polish at all (people sometimes focus on the dumbest minutiae). Time passes, and we all evolve. Why this trip down memory lane? I’ve noticed that the older I get, a little piece of my childhood weirdness keeps re-emerging. You know, I will wear a weird headband or bandana just for the hell of it. I still like glitter. Society tries to hammer us into labels and boxes, but I really never want to fit into that. I hope the childhood weirdness continues to give me my quirks.
Gwen Stefani in the Underneath it All music video.
Listen, maybe you weren’t into these artists that influenced me. We all have such different experiences. But someone did influence you. You are unique, and you have your own memories, I am sure. No matter who you are, together, we evolve, but we are still the same people with many of the same interests and peculiarities. I was reminded of how this shouldn’t change in Gwen Stefani’s new song “Let me reintroduce myself”. People are so focused on reinvention and trying to fit in, fit in, fit in. If you don’t believe me, open any social media. People look the same.
In the song, Gwen reminds us she is the original her. And you and I are also the original versions of ourselves. She says she’s not here for a comeback or reinvention. No. She is recycling herself.
No Doubt
Some lines from her new song:
“The simple recipe to get the best of me homegrown ingredients, that’s what made you mess with me”
“Not a comeback, I’m recycling me It’s not a comeback, you feel that new energy”
Be organic. Dig deep and find that bit of magical childhood fun (whatever that was for you). Be who you always wanted to be and use your qualities for good and to empower and help others. I wanted to be bold and in a way, fearless. I hope I channel that in my job, as I advocate for others. Hey, maybe you were the Abercrombie wearing kid or someone who was matchy-matchy or maybe you were a little emo– nothing wrong with that. Just make sure you are who you want to be, not who you are being told to be. The truth is none of us stays in one place, in one state, in one condition.
Pink
It’s 2021. There is all this pressure to do what we couldn’t in 2020, to look a certain way, to do that exercise, to cook a certain way maybe, to go to certain places, to pose a certain way, to get those photos, to make your space look Instagrammable. Whatever.
This new year, instead of letting something go to waste or trying to shape yourself to look like a replica, don’t forget to recycle.
“Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness. Let us not take it for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought big than in what is commonly thought small.” Virginia Woolf
By: Gabriela Yareliz
The Wood Between the Worlds was the pond-filled forest in The Magician’s Nephew, the first book in the Chronicles of Narnia. This wood was my favorite place to visit, not only in the book but in my mind. It was a sleepy place of in-between, where the light glowed softly; where you could jump into a pool that was a portal into an entirely different world. The wood was empty, intensely green, and so quiet you could hear the trees growing in it (or at least this is how I remember it in my imagination).
Shhhh. Listen. Can you hear the atoms as they fall? Do you take the time to hear the bubbles form, the grass growing against the wind, the water in its noisy stillness. Do you hear the moon’s whispers and the sun’s drowsy song? Do you draw close to the ants in their march of solidarity and the birds in their chipper conversation? As a society, we would do well to teach people how to listen in the same ways we teach them math and science. It’s a skill we all need if we will be any good at this life. Skills require practice and refinement. I think people hear a lot of things and adopt them as their own, but we don’t listen for the intricacies and details that make all the difference.
It may not be that we don’t want to but that we don’t know how. The first lesson in the course of listening is the first required step– to stop and find a singular focus.
We all either have a physical list of things to accomplish or the one that floats around in the back of our minds and weirdly makes a fun appearance when it’s time to sleep. We multitask and rush.
One of my intentions this year is to take time to listen. Really listen. I want to find myself in the Wood Between the Worlds, again. This means, in many ways, taking the time to stop and quiet the mind. And I don’t just want to listen to people, but I want pay attention when the floor creaks, when the water does its drip-drip and the little clinks in the radiator. I want to make sure I don’t miss the words unsaid. There is a poetry in the world around us that we often miss. I don’t want to miss it.
Another world opens up to us only when we take the time to seek it out. It takes courage to go through the portal that leads to a new experience. I want to fix my ears, I muse, as I take my screwdriver out of my backpack. When we fix our ears, we can fix our world.
GABRIELA YARELIZ 