Dear Friend,

If we begin with rest, where do we end?

I’ve thought a lot about this lately; a lot of my re-learning is about slowing down, about nourishing myself, about building a life that feels sustainable and soft. But there’s another side to that equation. After the bath, after the journaling, after the quiet cup of tea, there comes the moment when I stand in front of the mirror and decide how I want to show up.

This is where the finishing touch lives.

Contrary to the belief of the uninitiated, getting ready has never been frivolous. It takes time. Sometimes a long time. And that’s the point. The brushing and blending, the parting and pinning, the filling and polishing. Small, deliberate acts, put together to say, “I am here, and I care about how I enter this room.”

Makeup is not a mask. It is a medium. A sweep of blush can warm the face the way laughter does. A precise line on the eye can sharpen the gaze, while a smudged one can soften it and reshape the mood. Highlighter along the cheekbones is not just shimmer. Why shouldn’t I seize the opportunity to command light?

Hair is a dialect. It carries an accent, its own cadence and emphasis. A slicked-back bun is pithy in style—precise, succinct. A halo of curls feels expansive, lyrical, unconfined. Braids—whether in simple neat rows or geometric designs Fibonacci could only dream of, close to the head or down to the knees, adorned with beads, shells, or even more curls—speak in lineage and rhythm. A silk press moves fluidly, deliberately, and reflectively. None is more correct than the other. Each is its own voice, its own communication. Each is a nod to history, community, and personal preference. Each celebrates texture. Each celebrates inheritance.

And then there are the nails. The color I choose for the next few weeks, the design I sit with. Rich oxblood in winter, sheer pink in spring, graphic chrome when I’m feeling experimental, maybe a demure French when I’m feeling nostalgic. My hands move through the world all day. They greet, they tidy, they gesture, they create. Why wouldn’t they be considered, too?

On some days I wear my limbs bare and let my skin do the talking. Toasty brown with a pinkish hue, striped here and speckled there, the only thing it needs is moisture. Rich creams and mingled oils after a bath leave my skin plump and silky smooth, making me feel like royalty. My complexion can start at lovely, but adding a drop of myrrh and a dash of fine pearl pigment brings me to otherworldly. Uptown Cleopatra. Demerara Gold.

Other days, my body drips in a different kind of gold. Hoops framing my face. A chain slinking over the hills and valleys of my collarbone. Bangles clinking softly together as I walk, a bell in my anklet rounding out the tune. These pieces bear their own stories—a gift, a milestone, a souvenir of self investment. I fasten them and carry the memories with me.

There is a presence that this, the finishing touch, communicates. It reflects self possession. It takes time to learn yourself, to understand your what you like and what likes you. You’ve edited. You’ve chosen. That choice is powerful.

And it feels good, doesn’t it? Choosing, creating, designing, the godliness of it all. Participating in beauty as a living, evolving conversation. I feel blessed to consider my senses, to treat the senses of others. Life itself carries a sense of powerlessness—I don’t watch the news often, but every time I catch it there’s more stories of literal carnage, violence, and dismay throughout the Earth, in corners near and far. Even my neighborhood, littered with refuse, inspires me toward treating myself with intention. Creating a bit of beauty is both my right and my God-given responsibility.

When we wake from our rest, we are invited to a challenge, should we choose to accept. How will we show up today? How will we show love today? Will we embody the harmony we wish to see? Will we reflect the darkness? How will we treat the textures, ideas, and communities that shape us? How will we honor the girls we once were, and the women we are becoming?

I say take your time when you can. Luxuriate in getting ready. Let it feel indulgent, let it feel playful. Let it feel sacred in its own way. Command the light. Create your silhouette. Gild the lily.

Rest lays the foundation. The flair is in the finishing touch. So put it on. Or take it off, you decide.

I deserve it. And so do you.

xo,

Gabrela