Good morning from my stoop—and more from the spiritual stoop than the actual stoop today because my allergies are ripping me apart, but:
You can’t go wrong with this move on either end of the spectrum: the anonymity is freeing, and the safe, low lift, subtle exhibitionist behavior is thrilling.
On mornings where I’m feeling particularly deflated, this activity gives me an almost immediate boost. I wake up, make myself a cup of coffee, throw my essentials in a little bag, set up on the third to last step of my apartment building, and slowly begin to feel amazing. *I’m not going far, but the bag is essential because I’ve learned the hard way to not try and prove it to myself (for what reason? who knows) that I can carry a hot drink and my phone and my keys and my journal without dropping everything or forgetting to actually bring my keys and locking myself out of my apartment. We are simple creatures, and the sun first thing in the morning really helps. They tell us this, and they are right.
And the transformative power of the comfortably chilly mornings at this time of year are especially potent for me because they drop me into a very specific time and place: my summer sleepaway camp. Mornings at camp unlocked something in me.
But first, some context: when I tell people that I went to a Jewish co-ed sleepaway camp, folks often imagine White Hot American Summer type stuff. They’re not wrong, but I was never engaging in any remotely flirtatious behavior myself. To illustrate this point: during my first summer, a boy who I’ll call Josh asked me to the social under extreme peer pressure and I said yes (also under extreme peer pressure). The next day we had a field trip and I, as a dutiful social date, sat next to him on the bus ride. As I looked around at all the other couples on the bus, the girls were sweetly resting their heads on the boys’ shoulders. In an attempt to follow suit, I slowly started leaning my head down to rest on Josh, lowering my head maybe a centimeter every few seconds. I never did make it down to his shoulder. Instead, I spent the entire ride with my head bent to the side, suspended and cramping, unable to perform intimacy.
The romance I wanted was only in theory. And when I look back to my completely sexless experience at camp, a) I’m proud of myself for only doing what felt comfortable (making lifelong friendships and eating dried apple rings in bed at night instead of kissing people), but also b) I can’t imagine feeling less in my body, so it’s really no wonder.
As a teen, summer clothing felt like a form of purgatory. I wasn’t an aspiring nudist by any stretch of the imagination, but the way I dressed myself felt entirely unnatural, out of my control, and ultimately torturously uncomfortable. It’s as if the small amount of clothing I wore was specifically designed to squeeze and highlight all the areas of my body I was most insecure about:
I’m irritable just looking at this outfit and I have muscle memory of the constant adjusting it would scream for. Sitting down, I’d pull my shorts band up and my bra underwire down to collect and conceal as many tummy rolls as I could. When I walked, I had to hold my shorts down so they wouldn’t essentially become underwear as my thighs rubbed together and pushed the “legs” further and further towards my crotch. And this was all in summer humidity, in the thick of my lifelong battle with pit stains.
The best thing about being an adult so far has been deciding that I’m never wearing shorts again.
Chilly mornings at camp were the only reprieve I got from this terrible outfit (this is where the romance comes in). It was such a special time partly because it was so ephemeral. I knew there was hotter and stickier weather looming, and this fact helped me stay present. Soak up that breeze and the comfort of a roomy pair of sweatpants, it’s not forever! This was similar to the feeling I’d get on my rides home from school. I knew to try and enjoy that 45-minute ride as much as possible because once I got home I’d have homework to do. And so for those 45 minutes, I embraced the in-between and entered full daydream mode. No rules, no reality.
Are you enjoying this multimedia experience I’m testing out?
Every morning at camp began with something we called mifkad (meaning “meeting” in Hebrew). All the campers, counselors and staff would gather around the flagpole at the center of camp (where the girls’ and boys’ areas converged—can you feel the tension???) for a brief morning prayer and general announcements. After mifkad we’d have breakfast and then go back to the bunks to change for the day, so this meeting happened in PJs. This was my time to shine. And it’s worth noting that we never actually came down to mifkad in the clothing we slept in. We changed into a new set of cozy clothing for this. Now we’re talking.
In loose, soft clothing I felt like a goddess as I walked across the glistening grassy field; my body moving freely beneath my long sleeve T-shirt and the morning dew kissing my feet awake with each step.
For these brief 15-20 minutes, anything was possible. I have a crush on someone and oh, how electrifying! That someone also has a crush on me.
This outfit says “hug me, I’ll make it better",” “come in, the intimacy is fine,” “tell me a secret.”
And it would be a disservice to this memory if I didn’t take a moment to discuss what materially was happening at the flagpole. As we were confronted with the erotic intimacy of our peers in allegedly slept-in clothing, a hot rabbi recited i.e. entranced us with morning prayers. This man was in his late 40s, balding, and the people I went to camp with might not agree with me on this, but please understand that he was hot. I was ahead of my time. And by the way, he was also wrapped in teffilin. For those unfamiliar, teffilin are small boxes filled with scripture (think a wearable mezuzah) with leather straps. And for the sake of setting this scene the leather straps are all you need to know and understand. They are wrapped around the forearm and bicep. So here I am wearing cozy loose clothing, feeling ALIVE, surrounded by my crushes who are also in cozy clothing, being entranced by a lean forearm whose muscles and veins are highlighted by sacred leather straps.
Sitting on my stoop in Brooklyn immediately transports me to this zone. Anything is possible. The other day I saw a hot silhouette of a man approaching down the street in a a great outfit: burnt orange pants, a crisp white tee and a royal blue hat. So naturally, I got butterflies thinking about how crazy it would feel to make eye contact with him as he passed. When he got close enough to make that dream a reality, I saw that he was at least 76 years old (I’ve still got it).We smiled and waved at each other. It was sweet.
The thirties Brooklyn version of a mifkad outfit:
Early mornings will always be my favorite time of day. You’re seeing people raw and groggy and loose and cozy. Nothing better.
Wishing you all electrifying mornings this week,
🌷💗Ariella
*In case you missed it, I’m sharing diary comics for paid subscribers. I’ve been posting these fairly regularly, so it’s a nice little treat if you’re wanting to read some more from me :) and it’s a great way to support my work!
Feeling very inspired to open all the windows and attempt a similar tea-time morning routine! Also attended Jewish co-ed summer camp and was immediately brought back to NorCal slightly humid but comfortably chilly mornings (and dry shaving our legs in the doorway leading out of the cabin because shower times were limited 🥲). You capture these relatable, specific moments so perfectly, as always.
Loved this, thank you. Especially some things I'd forgotten from my distant past: 1) The feeling of uncomfortable teen clothes! 2) the feeling of being a teen in clothes you feel attractive in, around people you are attracted to! 3) walking around a city with a ceramic mug! (I used to take a cup of tea with me on my walk into university, leave it on a wall when I finished drinking it, and collect it on the way home). This has been a nice way to start the day, thank you!