Privilege–Crisis and Migration

August 17, 2018

One invaluable lesson the financial crisis in Greece taught me, is that one can’t take anything for granted.

There are few incredibly wealthy Greeks who remain untouched by the financial crisis. I am not going to talk about them in this blog post.

Countless young Greek professionals like myself, have had to leave their lives, their homes and their families behind for a another and very uncertain life elsewhere. I uprooted my life, (again) and migrated to another country, not only for a better life but essentially to survive. If all goes well and I’m able to build a life here in the U.S, or anywhere else; I hope to move beyond surviving, and to ultimately thrive and succeed.

Going back to Greece to live and work; is not a viable option for us who left. 

At least not yet.

I am far luckier than most.

With all the strides, that I have made living in New York the past five years; it has not been without its challenges. I attribute the general malaise of my fellow country men and women, not only to nostalgia or missing our homeland, but to the crude realization of having to prove ourselves somewhere else AGAIN, after having fought very hard to establish a life in a far less conducive and accepting environment.

I built a successful career in my field, and was afforded a relatively stable family and personal life, but most importantly Greece was my home. I LOVED living there. I had in general terms a good life. Despite all its craziness and complete chaos; I love Greece. Yet….most young people, (myself included when I first moved back after my studies), are endlessly discouraged by Greece’s pure lack of any provable organization, shitty public services, corrupt governance, disorganized and badly outdated infrastructure, nepotism, greed … rampant sexism, and most recently a newly emboldened racism and nationalism; the list is endless.

We all have complained, and continue to do so about how badly everything runs, how our corrupt politicians are stifling growth, entrepreneurship,  and innovation. Many of the people who left, wanted to make it work in Greece. We wanted to bring our knowledge back to our homeland. I like many of my contemporaries, have had the privilege of being educated in good schools, have had contact with some amazing minds in all the fields I have worked at;  (the Arts, Dance, Wellness and beyond), and have had the good fortune to be able to choose where I would like to live, but above all…. I had the ultimate “golden ticket”; an American Passport.

My privilege is not lost on me.

It has afforded much needed headway when coming to the United States to work and live after living in Greece for most of my adult life. Yet…. I am still seen as a bloody foreigner. Despite my many difficulties proving myself again as a yoga teacher, arts administrator and overall capable professional; this little title “American Citizen” protects me from far worse treatment and marginalization that many of my compatriots feel having never lived in the U.S, or any other foreign country for that matter.

When observing the difficulty my friends face when coming to the U.S for the first time, I feel immensely grateful to be able to navigate through “the system” as well as having a better understanding of the intricacies of living, operating and decoding how “the little things” work in the U.S. This is an obscure list of unwritten rules; it’s handed to us upon arrival and, we all have to follow them.

A rude awakening, to a new life.

Whatever life I left behind in Greece; losing the comfort and ease I was used to, was quite daunting at first glance. What I learned upon arrival to the U.S is that nothing of what I knew or was used to is applicable here. If I am going to survive, I must play the local game and all but forget how things worked for me “back home”. I had to go through the same “schooling” when I moved back to Greece at 22, after my studies in the U.S. The American way of life does not apply to Greek chaos… so I was called to re-calibrate how I worked “the system”, in order to survive and ultimately thrive.

This I find is the biggest gift, no matter how hard of a transition it has been. I am now fortified with the tools to be able to negotiate a productive way of life both here and in Greece. The local rules and “how things are done” are no longer a mystery, because doing things by the book in New York is only the first step to a long education about making it here, or anywhere else.

And the story continues….

Phantoms and Ghosts

August 2, 2018
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Picture by Robert Valenzuela (@3rd.knight)

What role do our memories play in how we hold on to people?

 

I romanticize my exes.

Even when years have passed, they cross my mind. I do this just enough so I can trick my self into thinking how I regret losing them.

 I’m surrounded by phantoms; ghosts of lovers past who I tap into every time I want to feel wounded about my crap choices in partners, lovers and men who are far from perfect in reality; yet I paint them in very different and much more favorable colors.

I’m the painter, it’s my canvas I’ll cry on it if I want to.

I’m content with how my life is right now, and after some time has passed, I’m fine with my choice to not seek any further romantic involvement, with all my failed romantic escapades. Yet… my skin feels the touch points he touched, I romanticize this imperfect and quite ridiculous person into some prince charming when he was far from it…

I clung for years to my memories of these imperfect men like little nuggets of a fairy tale gone horribly bad. 

Of course they were imperfect, not what I truly wanted or needed in my life then or now. My loneliness played tricks on me, and we all do this; I projected characteristics, reactions and romantic comedy bull shit scenarios to these toads, who adorned me with fancy words, and over the top flattery.

Rhinestone Cowboys I like to call them. You know the type of men who will pretty much say anything just to get recognition, a smile, vulnerability, and ultimately power over you. And you let them; despite all the cautionary tales, and your friends telling you he’s full of shit, and your own brain trying to avoid another collision course, because it’s inevitable you will fall for the ones who tell you what you want to hear.

When we sit down and take stock of our past failures in relationships with people who on the surface may have seemed “perfect for us”; ultimately what we lament is not the loss of these seemingly perfect people, but the loss of ourselves, in them.

We must not lose ourselves for the whims and wants of others. 

We must not lose who we are, we must not lose who we want to become, or hold back to please other peoples idea of us. As hard as that is, as challenging as it may seem, holding out for those who meet us half way or all the way for that matter are far more gratifying, appealing and beautiful.

There is no time for false narratives, bad stories and fake vulnerability. Holding on to ghosts as backward as it may seem to many, has at least helped me know what I definitely don’t want. And for many, recognizing even that; is a start to letting go of the ghosts and the phantoms of the past.

 

 

Let me say This… Revisited

July 25, 2018

I wrote a poem about 3 years ago, and It’s the first one I ever performed live at an event called First Time Out, in New York at a cool performance/bar space called Pete’s Candy Store.

I was a very nervous, and shaky first time performer back in November 2016, but I took a chance with an art form and a stage that I had never even dreamed I would ever approach, let alone at the “ripe” age of 38.

This piece is close to my heart because I wrote it for someone I deeply care about, who I can now call a dear friend. We went through our ups and downs in life and we ended up floating instead of sinking so I’m dedicating this to my dear friend P. Life has a very strange way of colliding people together who may on the surface seem incongruous.

The more I travel, the more people I collide with. Old friends remain true friends, others fade away, some remain there for a lifetime, through thick and thin, some betray you, some you betray. It’s a never ending cycle of attraction, connection, and sometimes a rare blossoming.

Enjoy.

LET ME SAY THIS

Let me tell you a story about leaving home, about struggling to find a place of your own, Let me tell you about walking miles every day in this crazy city, 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 poetry…. 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, till your guts hurt and not caring how loud you are cause that shit was so damn funny!  Let me tell you about sex, and passion, lack of intimacy or truth, let me tell you about excuses and mistreatment and unfulfilled embraces, let me tell you about pain. Let me tell you about not wanting to live again.

“let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking, there must be more than life to this…”

Let me tell you about falling in love and going out of your mind, let me show you loss and tears. Let me tell you about walking alone, and sleeping alone and crying alone and feeling alone even though your not. Let me tell you about countless early mornings sitting in silence breathing and hoping it will all get better.

Let me tell you about waking up with sun in your eyes and smelling the island breeze and wishing you were here with me, diving deeper and deeper into the deep blue sea.


Let me tell you about missing my home, my people, my sun kissed balcony, the aromas of fresh baked bread from the village bakery

salt on my skin

the sound of hundreds of cicadas

drowning the air with their numbing rhythm. Let me tell you about music and dancing, and embracing friends who are far away, and letting your hair down cause…

that’s what life is all about.

Let me show you what I see, what I hear let me share with you my story, and I want you to tell me yours.

Tell me about you, tell me about your dreams and struggles your life and goals, your fears.
are you sitting up at night thinking is this all there is?

Eat with me, drink with me, laugh with me, cry with me, look into my eyes and see there is nothing more beautiful than sitting in silence and knowing, understanding one another and realizing….

Yes that this is ALL there is.

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Opinions Vs. Knowledge

July 11, 2018

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Are you sick of being overrun by opinions?

This is a random mid week post much like the ones I had undertaken back in March on my 27 day birthday Challenge.

I’ll call this new chapter of my writing frenzy the 30 day random questions challenge. This is a way to engage more with my few and trusted readers. I have in the past and attempt to engage with more of you out there. Recently to my dismay I have caught myself becoming quite a recluse lately with my writing; so this is an attempt to change.

I have promised time and time again that if I am going to write at all, I’ll write honestly, truthfully and from the heart to whoever is out there reading my musings.

Or else shut this whole operation down.

So here is my first random question- prefaced by some background.

We find ourselves in the era of social media, 24 hour news programming, blogs (yes like mine), articles written on any subject under the sun; on more free article writing sites than our brains can handle, and more newspapers and more free press than we know how to do decipher; yet most or all of what we read is someone’s personal opinion, point of view, or account of things. Our personal perception on any and all things, is being shaped, changed, skewed and solidified by other people’s opinions rather than our own personal experience. For example:

Horrible movie review of an indie film by 3 people sends crowds to the one everyone raves about, determining not only the quality of something, but also its worth based on public opinion and popularity, rather than merit.

Food

Art (this includes, music, film, dance, visual and performing arts)

Politics

Public figures of all kinds

Travel

Literature

You get it. Everything we seem to partake in seems to be there because and strongly based on the opinion makers and holders, regardless of what we may actually decide for ourselves. In short:

why do we allow these individuals with the power to advertise their opinions louder than anyone else, to determine our taste, where we go for vacation, what we like for food, what we should dress like, how we should love, how we should express ourselves and for all intents and purposes how to live our lives.

There seems to be a cacophony of chatter but really absolutely nothing personal is actually shared. We are all forced to use recycled ideas, and opinions while following lifestyle gurus instead of being encouraged to question, discover, risk, and figure out shit for ourselves. It doesn’t bode well for free societies, to be so lead by the nose…

Is randomness, spontaneity and personal exploration losing its mojo?

If you would like to share your thoughts, I would love to hear from you!

 

 

How you project yourself may not be how other people see you.

July 9, 2018
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Photograph by Eric Snell (@esnelldesign)

We’ve all had that moment.

We are projecting one version of ourselves, yet a completely different person is being reflected back at us.

We see ourselves one way and others see us in a completely different light.

Where do these two perceptions clash?

Most of it is based on people’s own stream of consciousness and not what we project.

We think no one is noticing us, while there are clearly people drawn to us, our energy, and who we are. Or the idea of who we might be in their head. We hardly notice or welcome people’s gaze, attention, or reflections of us, in a society where everyone is on social media posting every aspect of our lives.

Yet… with all this communication, there is clearly a big deficit in actual communication.

I’ve done this many times and I’m sure everyone does. 

I fantasize about who people are, rather than actually seeing them for who they are.

My exploration of these dual realities and images comes at a very pivotal time. I have only recently discovered what I can simply call “my authentic self”. I am still battling with my perceived awkwardness of the pimply shy teenager I used to be, the one no one wants to talk to, and everyone makes fun of, and there are plenty of times I think I’m still that awkward girl. I often hope I go unnoticed, lurking in the shadows observing others.

I battled that fear of exposure, and people taking notice of who I was, or who they thought I was,  when I posed for various photographers in the five years I’ve lived in New York. Some nude, some for Yoga purposes, some for fun. I continue to be open and vulnerable in my recent work performing my poetry in front of complete strangers. (that was a challenge!)

In every instance I haven’t seen myself as particularly attractive, interesting or photogenic, but more theatrical and obscure. A curiosity.

Yet the response I get from people, is that of someone who is quite different. After I turned 40 all the shyness and awkwardness of my youth has slowly faded away.

Claiming space, claiming my worth, my voice, beauty, or image as a woman; has been a very interesting exploration. But I’m still baffled at how others perceive me.

How we see ourselves may not be hour others see us. 

We are shaped by a myriad of references. Cultural experiences being one of them. I grew up in Greece in the late 70’s and 80’s  and then again in the early 2000’s. Despite my American accent and passport, everything about who I am and have become is shaped by my life in Greece. Recently a friend said to me “oh you’re such a Greek-American!” which is a blatant fact. I belong to two worlds, two camps, two realities. Often opposing each other vehemently. Depending on my surroundings; like a chameleon I absorb cultural references I grew up with, and mold them to my current reality. You never know what you’re going to get!

Yet time and time again, others who observe us, will see something purely based on their own perceptions. We ALL do that, sometimes to our advantage, sometimes to our detriment.

Next time you observe someone, before you impose your idea of them, let them unfold in front of you unobstructed by your own perceptions.

You might be surprised by what you receive.

The Long Way Home

June 29, 2018

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I must confess; I’m in love with Brooklyn.

There is something enchanting about Brooklyn evenings that few other neighborhoods in New York City possess.

My bias is not with out an excuse; I’ve lived in the same neighborhood in south Brooklyn ever since I moved to New York from Athens five years ago. Except for a brief stint living in Manhattan in the East Village and the Lower East Side (which I still love), most of my time has been spent south of Prospect Park.

I owe my love of this part of city to my original host and friend from college who introduced me to this multi- ethnic, multi cultural and multi layered microcosm few (thank goodness) still know about.

Simply put it’s a gem.

Nestled in between Prospect Park and the Greenwood Cemetery, this still unspoiled part of Brooklyn is a place where you can say hello to the corner bodega owner, chat with your neighbor while they walk their dog, and see familiar faces walking around the streets on a lazy, Sunday afternoon. I wave to the store owners catching a glimpse of the action in the street every morning when I go to work, but I never think of taking the time to truly explore further.

From what many locals tell me, the neighborhood hasn’t changed that much over the years. Originally an Italian immigrant neighborhood, it is now peppered with a spectrum of nationalities, languages, cultures and religions. A true cultural crossroads. But I needed to know more.

Summer nights are a perfect excuse for a long walk.

One evening after an event in the Greenwood cemetery I took this rare opportunity to take the long way home.

As the sunset burst into a beautiful tapestry of colors; shades of pink, salmon, purple and yellow adorned the early evening sky. The aroma of evening primrose and soft wet soil wafted through the air… I was transported. For a moment I was lifted away from the worries of my New York life and felt like I was walking through the streets of my old neighborhood in Athens. I instantly felt carefree; but the real treat didn’t arrive until the sun set; revealing thousands upon thousands of fireflies signaling to each other in their own mystical code.

I closed my eyes took a deep breath and floated with the sounds of stories being told of the families living in these neighborhoods, of meals shared, travels taken and lives changed forever. This was the first time in my years living in New York that I was absolutely in tune with my surroundings.

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Living in such a high strung city, we are used to boxing ourselves in. We end up shielding our bodies and minds from the cacophony of noises, lights, tall buildings, strong aromas; all  of which accost our senses in invasive ways.  We choose to be numb to the big stuff and forget to take a moment to really observe the more subtle aspects of this city. During my walk through my neighborhood, all of that outer noise instantly vanished, and I was able to just enjoy the long walk home.

Outrage–

June 20, 2018
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Outrage. 1950. USA. Directed by Ida Lupino.

We are drowning in outrage. Everyday there is something new to be outraged about. Tragic, manic politicians doing more harm than good, putting us all in a state of panic.

Devastating war in distant corners of the world while leaders of countries play chess with peoples lives.

Talent show hosts with draconian immigration schemes that fill the pockets of thieves and corporations, with zero tolerance for human devastation.

War machines growing and growing like vines.

Greed, capitalism, human rights violations, massive migrations and we are all outraged, devastated, furious beyond comprehension.

And for what?

Did we notice that we are still in our comfortable living rooms,  dining in restaurants, and safe in our beds sleeping at night?

Did we notice that we won’t have trouble, buying food, or bottles of water or a new shag rug, and that cute little dress that looks just right?

Let us stop drowning in outrage and turn the page.

We are more useful and necessary than we think. The big man didn’t do this with out our consent.

But we can pay the rent.

Enough with the outrage and let’s choose to take our place in history.

This isn’t a mystery… stop complaining about the injustices and settle back into your routines. This fight isn’t a fair one without our participation.

Cause it’s easy to think that your super market doesn’t have a gluten free section when you’re far away from devastation and pain.

So let’s come together again.

Unprotected children deserve more than our grass roots facebook attention span and insta-fury.

The world is watching, our outrage.