Greek In the Big Apple

I'm looking for the dark, dirty streets of New York. The pulse, the rhythm, that beat that makes this city unique. I'm looking for the stories of New York, of its struggles, diversity, artistry and glamour. I'm looking for the gritty, grimy alleys, for the tales once told that reveal this city that everyone wants to see and no one knows about. I want the raw, unfiltered, non airbrushed, unkept New York, the morning after walk of shame in high heels and slightly crooked dress.  I want the rockers and the dancers, the graffiti artists, the freaks, and the hip hop legends that made this place pop to tell me their stories.  The traditions, the history and the legends are still thankfully seen in the cracks of the pavement, the murals on the walls, the tagging in the buildings, and hidden in little urban treasures. Yet what I seem to find more and more these days is a polished, "safe" city with less and less flavor. It's not all gone, of course th

"Let me show you what I see, what I hear let me share with you my story, and I want you to share yours with me." Let me tell you a story about leaving home, about struggling to find a place of your own, about walking kilometres every day in this crazy place,  and asking yourself  over and over again is this all there is?  Let me tell you about loving and heartbreak, about standing on your own two feet, about flirtation about opening your heart again about loneliness about doubt and fear, let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking there must be more than life to this. Let me tell you about rejoicing in knowing you have friends who love you and you love them. Let me tell you about poetry and listening to father analyse over and over the importance of C.P Cavafy, because talking about your motherland falling apart isn't that pleasant. Let me tell you about mother and how she is my best friend.  Let me tell you about laughter in the middle of the street

Dear Readers, For once I'm at a loss for words... (I know its shocking!) This past weekend as I was putting new plants in my flower pots as I do every spring, I sat down to think about what it means to live a life with purpose   The simple act of making things grow or participating in their growth has always been very gratifying to me. I want to see evolution happen not only from a yoga perspective and in the students I teach, but also in other aspects of people's lives. I find no greater joy than to see my friends and loved ones succeed and prosper at what they do, and make strides in their professional and personal lives, yet I can't seem to pinpoint what a life of purpose means for me. Inevitably as I think about it and formulate an imaginary perfect life,  wondering what I would do if everything went the way I planned, I realize I would not veer very far from where I am now.  We all have a compass, an internal guide to place us in the exact location tha