Greek In the Big Apple

This past August, I was preparing to leave for my annual trip to Athens. It's a trip I plan, anticipate, and long for all year. Yet again as I packed my suitcases and planned my travels, I was reminded of the fact that I too, like many of my fellow Greek friends am part of a modern diaspora. " I'm not quite Greek, and not fully American." We have chosen or were forced to leave. We could have stayed, we weren't escaping war, or famine, or relentless poverty, yet we took a risk and we traveled. We left our homes, our families, our friends. We detached from the comfortable and familiar and journeyed to places that would provide a more stable future, and a different if not always a better life. We went to where the opportunities were, and in most cases with no clear vision of our future. I left because It's something I've always done, I've lived my whole life between Greece and America.    My existence has been about living in two worlds, with tw

I have had a long pause from writing and posting of pictures,  yet so much has been happening this winter. Much like my dry spell for writing,  I've felt moments and bursts of inspiration among many moments of lull and lack of inspiration. I wanted to take it all in,  and be able to sit in silence as the images and the moments were imprinted in my mind. I must also be honest in sharing with you that after being a nomad  living out of my suitcases for so long, I have found moments of peace and connection in my new home, where I wanted to do nothing more than sit in silence, read, meditate, sleep late and allow for the days to pass without fanfare. Having a space that feels comforting and complete is a rare find in this city. After many months of moving from temporary home to temporary home I've found a place that IS home.   A sanctuary where no pretense is needed and where friends, family and cats yes cats, have gathered these last few months in moments of sharing and b

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

This post comes at a strange transitional time in my life, and I've had in mind to share it for quite some time. It's not a pleasant subject and it's quite personal, yet I don't think I've ever shared something here that wasn't deeply personal and close to my heart. S haring this with you won't be any different.  In recent years, I've had some very thought provoking, harsh and difficult interactions with addicts and recovering addicts, and it forced me to take a serious look into addiction and my connection to it. As I write this, I'm reminded of something a recovering addict told me a few years ago. We are all  addicts. We are all susceptible to addiction of one kind or another, it doesn't have to be to a substance or something tangible. It is like almost any habit, a means to an end, a feeling created, an escape, a masking of something much deeper than what we allow ourselves to realize.  "We are all addicts."  A random

Hello dear readers, It's been a little while since I've written. I've been preoccupied with my health and finally after two months of illness, tests, hospitals, inept doctors and a general feeling of not enjoying any of it, all is well. And then it happened... It was one of those days. That turning point where winter is finally over and the smells of spring are in the air. That moment where one can walk to the park and feel the sun warming the skin. Yes that moment where the layers come off and the barriers come down and nature is alive again. You know that moment has arrived because people come a little closer,  I'm not talking about the birds and the bees here folks, for those eager enough there is plenty out there.  I'm talking about that moment when this Mediterranean woman, so eager for some sun can feel at ease again. It has been a mild winter in comparison to other years, I can't complain, but no less brutal and cold down to the bone.