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  • GABRIELA ARISTA

Staring at the full moon..



I sit here, contemplating on what I am doing wrong and how much I’d rather just be successful.

But what is success?

It’s a multimillion question.

Many people seek for it.

What is the answer?

What do we know about success?

Do we truly believe in those that give us their top 10 rules of success with YouTube?

Or what? Lol.

In front of me, a tree.

You see, this tree has been by my side since I realized my worth 4 years ago.

I saw it change colors in season, like a sister who would play dress up.

Me and her have been connected.

Always changing colors/outfits throughout the seasons.

Well, here she is. It’s like she’s been waiting for this opportunity for us to connect.

The air is cool, the town is starting to simmer down and everyone is close to drift off to sleep.

It’s the first of October here in Texas, so we have a chilly morning, but an obnoxious hot wind by the afternoon. The type that makes you question why you wore those cute jeans and that ribbon sweater that you just bought because it’s now “fall”. However, the weather isn’t predictable and I sometimes wonder why people like living here.

Any way, here I am sitting in a chair made for the outside world. The material is pretty itchy, considering I have short running shorts on. (Is that even a thing? I guess so.)

But as I stare out to my sister tree, I can’t help but to feel close to her. She’s beautiful, not tall and has a good figure. If I stood next to her, I’m 5’4” by the way, but if I did stand next to her, she’s probably like 6 ft and a half? The thing about tonight is that we just got our patio extended this summer and I get the privilege to sit outside now and rest like this. An escape to my new and maybe favorite place to chill. I have the staircase right in front of me which leads me to her. I noticed that her and I are connected. I don’t know. I was taking in my surroundings of this beautiful and peaceful night when I looked straight up and saw her. The way that her leaves softly and quietly move with the wind lets me know that she’s been doing well. That she has been waiting for this moment between her and I. As I write this, I can already imagine your eyebrows squiggling into confusion. This is the best that I can describe for the moment. I have a cool imagination, I least I’d like to think so and also, I’ve been told that I think differently than the norm. Which is why I’m here, writing this. Because I’d like to connect this moment with you and our Mother Nature. As a woman, we more than likely, strive for perfection. We want our homes neatly clean, organized and ready for the gram. (That means Instagram, it’s okay, we’ll do this together.) We want our bills sorted out, paid for beyond time and still have money left to get that massage that we’ve been dreading to call and book. We want to have dinner and lunch for the next day made with no dishes in the sink. Not even a fork in sight. We want to have our hair shiny, volumized and ready for dates. I get it.

We want perfection.

We want those jeans to fit nice and also to smell good.

I can go on and on.

But my point here— what was it?

I think we’re doing too much for our own good.

THERE.

I said it.

I think we are striving for so much and not spacing out our reality.

And our reality is that we have to just roam with the seasons of life.

Just like my sister tree here,

right in front of me. Can you believe she’s now started to rustle up her leaves? I can hear her being louder and sassy as if she’s saying “Uhuhhh, told ya sis.”

It amazes me what nature does to me.

It pulls me in and gives me insight on a world that I feel like I belong to. The one that meets far beyond the eye.


Take care of yourself sis.

Take care of your dreams and get some rest.

You can’t do everything in one day.

And that... is okay.


Enjoy the moment, take a deep deeep breath.

Smile.

Let go of perfection and be you.

We need you to enjoy.

To love freely and to ask for nothing in return.

You are perfect the way you are.

I guarantee it.

xoxo,


Gabriela Arista

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