photography – Eleana Kouneli

Day 8. – Sunday in Brooklyn

A walk through my favourite parts of Brooklyn brought with it unexpected surprises and a small detour.

On an unseasonably warm March Sunday morning; Brooklyn beckoned for a long walk through its tree lined streets and quaint neighborhoods. I have been feeling the effects of a sedentary winter, the crazy health scares and the political scene, like many of us; so taking a long stroll was just the medicine needed to wake up my winter body. It seems my idea was not a novel one, as there were many fellow sun worshipers taking their long awaited dose, of freedom as if they had been let out of their winter prisons.

After a hearty breakfast with a friend at her neighborhood Greek diner, ( yup every neighborhood has one); I decided to start my walk admiring the incredible victorian inspired architecture of Ditmas Park, with the final destination aimed at the neighborhood of Bay Ridge, ( the other Greek enclave outside of Astoria, Queens.

I first walked though my old neighborhood, taking a fresh look at familiar streets, eyeing suspiciously at new stores opening up where neighborhood staples had been open for years. The obligatory stop to say hello to my favorite Yemeni neighborhood bodega near my old street lead to a quick conversation and a joyful reassurance that god will look over us all. I suppose as a spiritual atheist I’ll take all the blessings I can get. I kept my pace walking up the hill between Greenwood Cemetery and Prospect Park. There lies a little secret street not many people know about well protected from real estate sharks tucked in a triangle all on its own. The architecture is a mixture of old wooden houses and pre WW II two story single family homes. Thankfully most of them well preserved and owned by old timers who desperately hold on as best as they can. Primarily an Italian American neighborhood until the late 1970s.

I know now that making time for diversions on my walks is always rewarding, because as I stood at the top of a quiet crossroads between my old neighborhood and Greenwood cemetery, I caught the eye of an older gentleman sitting on his stoop taking in the sun while reading his newspaper. I didn’t have a deadline except for making sure I was back home by sunset, which left a good 3 hours for my stroll. I greeted the older man who introduced himself with a smile. “Hello!” I say “taking in this lovely sun I see.”

Jack, is a genuine Brooklyn local, born, raised, married, had a family and lived on this block his whole adult life. Italian- American ( as are most of the old timers of this neighborhood since the early 20s) from the island of Favignara just off the western coast of Sicily.

-You’re looking well! I said which was part encouragement part truth, and he quickly replied “it’s all the extra virgin olive oil from the mother land!” To which I replied “oh I could not agree with you more, I’m from Athens and I don’t buy anything other than olive oil from my country” What unfolded was one of the loveliest conversations I’ve had the privilege of having.

Jack introduces himself with a sweet smile on his face, probably quite glad someone from the neighborhood stopped by to say hello. He is a spry 91 years young, and despite his blood thinners and according to him horribly restrictive diet, has a youthful demeanor about him. He has lived in this very neighborhood since he married his lovely wife in the early 1920s. He quickly pulled out his wallet to show me his wedding day picture which showed a handsome dark haired man with his strong gaze, standing proudly next to his elegant Italian beauty of a bride of 61 years. They moved from their cold water flat to this gem of a neighborhood, had two children, 3 grandchildren and 2 great grand children. I asked if his wife was around and a slight sadness overtook him as he explained her passing 2 years prior.

– I’m lonely now, everyone I know has passed on, my kids live outside the city, yes they visit but not often enough. He said as his eyes grew darker. Things have changed here over the years. You know what did it? That damn highway, ripped through our quiet neighborhood and changed everything since the 60’s.

-You don’t like change, Jack?

– No! He responded quickly in a distinctive Brooklyn accent now rarely heard around these neighborhoods.

– These ugly apartment buildings going up all over the park, I hate them!

– I don’t like change either, but what can you do? I’ll visit you Jack! I said and I meant it. Having lived with my amazing land lady of 95 years, I know how older people crave company.

-If I’m alive! He quickly responded.

-I just found you Jack, don’t leave me just yet! I joked and he laughed a toothy smile.

-Ok let me ask ya a personal question. He goes.

-Ask me anything, I respond ( fully knowing what would come next)

-You have someone ? he asks with a concerned look.

-Ah Jack… Not really.

-What! A lovely woman such as yourself?

-You wanna be my beau, Jack? I smiled.

He smiled back, and at that moment another neighbor brought by some chrysanthemum bulbs that he couldn’t use, and I lingered a little longer before I said good bye.

– I’ll see you soon Jack! Take care of yourself. I’ll bring you some spinach pie next time I come around. I won’t put too much feta in it.

– May god keep you happy and healthy always. Take care of yourself, you’re a lovely young woman. He gave me a soft embrace and I reassured him I would keep my promise to come by again.

As I walked up the hill towards the cemetery it hit me, how many times I drove by Jack’s house in the four years that I lived down the street from him and never passed by. The time was right and I do hope I get to see him again. These precious moments for him are morsels of sweetness in a life that has long changed since he moved to this quiet hill in Windsor Terrace.

– Bless you Jack! I waved as I resumed my stroll, realizing I had spent a good 45 minutes talking to my new friend.

The sun hit my face once more and I took in a deep breath. Thanks Jack, you’re a gem.

Till tomorrow. Keep walking.

Day 6 & 7 Saturdays

Saturdays in New York.

The little things matter. Saturdays are about the small morsels and the unique little corners of New York. Life here is rushed, frenetic and fast paced. The quiet moments are few, but it you take to notice; this city is just as much about the grand story as the snapshots and little secrets of our lives. Today is all about Saturday.

SATURDAY MORNING

The crisp air of an early spring has finally arrived in New York. The usual characters are out in my neighborhood in their usual style. The light in the morning sky is just little softer, just a little kinder, yet it’s still too cold to walk out without a heavy coat. I walk to my neighborhood coffee shop, and grab my usual before heading to a client in the East Village. Today seems like the self isolation of the winter is starting to slightly loosen its grip. Kids are dragging their parents to diners in the city and young boys are racing each other down the street. Amidst the insanity of the political, social, and world health turmoils; sits a quiet life that doesn’t stop for anything.

Saturdays have a special ease for me. I let the day unfold, unrushed, and unscripted. Every other day has an early start, a schedule, a task, a job, a time line. Saturdays are open, lazy, and as the springtime comes; perfect for long walks. Taking strolls in New York are the best way to see the city, it’s a city of neighborhoods, and the people who represent them. Morning in my neighborhood is like no other in the city, and afternoon in the East Village, especially on the first sunny warm days of the season are defined by two things; Day drinking and loud conversations.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

Walking through the East village is quite possibly one of my favorite things to do in New York. I love this part of the city, it’s rawness, it’s unapologetic New Yorkness, and the more I get to know it, the more I notice the little things, the secrets that this neighborhood slowly reveals. I walked into Tompkins Square Park off of 10th street just as the sun was at it’s peak warmth before giving in to the crisp early evening. The locals, the ones that have always been in the east village, before it became cool for everyone to be there have gathered in the entrance of the park, to share stories, smoke a joint and play chess. Hard faces, with a slight sadness in their eyes, share stories and lingered glances, as spanish is the official language of the square. It’s an unspoken rule, that the old guard owns the park. It’s their place of gathering, their living room, and I would not dream of interrupting them. I sat on a bench, closed my eyes and allowed the sounds to fill the air. Kids running near by, a small food market closing it’s stalls after a long day and the influx of loud young voices of the people leaving the bars near by. I steal a few more moments to listen in on the lively conversations, before I move on to Canal street Market for a quick chinese pancake. The delicate spell is quickly broken after I walk away from the park, I notice the noisiness of the city start to rise in preparation for Saturday Night. I take a few more moments in the cold sun before disappearing into the next subway towards home.

Saturdays are my date with the city days. Daily life, can get in the way of the intimacy needed to sit and savor the moments the little things, the little details that only reveal themselves when the city is allowed to exist without expectations. New York is still stretching out her wings, perched up on a rooftop somewhere observing the landscape before everyone else steals her quiet moment. There is nothing casual about New York life, except on an early saturday morning, after the previous night’s escapades have been cleaned up with the shop owners and the street sweepers prepare her for the tourists and the visitors and the ones who won’t ever see her little hidden gems. Saturday is the day when the city is just for us “locals” to enjoy.

Till tomorrow, by the skin of my teeth and on the eve of a bright Sunday morning. Goodnight and Good luck.

Gotham’s Magic- A love learned.

How to Seek for Novelty in the Familiar.

Living in one place long enough, you forget to see it with curious fresh eyes. You walk up the same train station, drive the same route to work, take the same street to your yoga practice, gym, dance class; go to the same cafe or bar for a drink with friends. None of this is bad per se. There is something beautiful, comforting even, about the familiar faces and places you encounter every day. Yet shaking up the pot ignites renewed curiosity in a place that has become part of your everyday life.

I challenge myself to the newness of things in order to avoid getting into a much dreaded rut. Daily life is not often full of wonder, unless we make a concentrated effort. Practice, go to work, teach, give massages, come home, cook, write. Rinse and Repeat. I try to stay true to my commitment to novelty, curiosity and keeping a fresh eye on things I see everyday. The reason? I have to gaze at things with absence of predictive air, feeding my need to stay present so I don’t get lost in the same story line. So I don’t get lost in myself.

sunburst sunday rush

Routines, set schedules, predictable outcomes can be equal part comforting and a trap. Looking up at that special moment when all you want to do is bury yourself in the same thing over and over again requires a little extra effort. I say this because falling in love with a place you don’t consider your home requires effort, presence and a sense of wonder. Falling in love with it when it’s all you know is twice as challenging.

New York is not an easy broad ( and for me she IS a broad— not a lady, or a missus, or a woman she’s a broad with whatever images you care to understand reflect that characteristic).

She is harsh, unromantic and somewhat uglypretty. ( a Greek word not really translatable “ασχημόρμοφη” ) a trait she shares with my hometown Athens, who’s femininity is always cast over with a shadow of the unkempt or wild. Taking her for granted and ignoring her nuanced beauty is easy to miss. She’s not glamorous or sexy like Paris or Rome but she’s enchanting, and when you take a moment to notice; she will make you fall in love with her. Unlike my love for Athens, which is in my blood, my love for New York has been peppered with anger, loneliness, pure joy, grittiness and forgiveness. New York is a cinematic love, Athens is a poetic one.

Living and learning to love a city that is not my place of birth is about a deeper kind of love. It’s about understanding the hustle, the grind, and the soul of this metal giant, as the facade of its deep felt inherent kindness and humanity. Some days it takes effort and patience not reserved for your average New Yorker …. but just like I’m not your average Athenian, I’m certainly not your average New Yorker.

Belonging to this city is a work in progress, and like most die heard New Yorkers will never miss a chance to state that: you don’t deserve to be called one unless you’ve spit blood, sweat and tears for it. Noticing it’s magic, however belongs to everyone regardless of socioeconomic status, birthplace, or location. Ive learned to love New York as I hade learned to love myself. She has become a part of me and I a part of her, and every now and then she enchants me, this gal of mine.

Gotham Soul- Standing

Lower Manhattan Christmas Eve

She stands tall. Gotham dreams of a place unknown and known. A legacy thrown into turmoil, she breathes.

Her. guts scream.

Her power unseen.

She grapples with the visitors and the takers of her streets.

A queen, taken from her throne and thrown about like a beggar in her own neighborhood.

She stood tall, and she will again. The threading of her story is still in the making. Patterns left unfinished and long forgotten, will rise like a falcon over a clear sky. Triumphant, confronting, scrutinizing our every move.

This lady is still about liberty underneath the layers of depravity. She’s my sanctuary.

Nothing is more iconic and telling of New York life than during the holiday season. Rockefeller center and Macy’s light display, the skating rink in Bryant Park. Landmarks, and points of interest. Many more tourists come during Christmas and New Year’s eve than any other time of year. What I’ve always been drawn to and notice is the other side of the spectrum. Noticing the loneliness, the isolation and the art of the Christmas hustle. What makes this city especially harsh during the holidays; is that they are treated as a commodity, and everyone who does work during them is part of that mechanism.

This year I chose to ( was forced ) spend the holidays in the city. Work kept me here so I used the opportunity to take this unavoidable staycation and treat myself to a little bit of a tourist viewpoint.

New York has two ( at least) worlds; one of opulence and tourist attractions and one of familiar locality. Small local joints, people who know each other and greet you on the street, and an absence of frivolity and pretense.

Real New Yorkers however they might be depicted in movies and television; are a caring, loving people and the heartbeat of this city, and when you get to know them, some of the kindest people you will ever meet. Staying here during the holidays in what seemed an almost empty metropolis, gave me a chance to meet and actually talk to many more people I otherwise would have overlooked. Stay open to possibilities in the year to come, you never know where they will take you.

Happy Fucking New Year.

Day 16. – A Nomadic Life

How to roam the world and still build roots.

If there is one thing that captures my attention more than anything else; it’s travel. Traveling is my drug of choice. Ever since I can remember my family and I have lived a very nomadic life. I grew up in Greece, left as a teenager for studies in the U.S and London, and went back as a young adult, only to leave again 13 years later and reestablish a life in New York at the age of 35. Something tells me I’m not done moving around… yet.

Setting up a life in another place no matter how familiar or routine it sounds; takes a mixture of guts, stupidity, throw caution to the wind bravery, thirst for adventure, and insanity. Yet, I’ve done it 3 times.

This life I’ve chosen, first chose me. Anyone who gets out of their familiar place, packs up their life and moves to a completely different place; is a nomad. I will not get into the discussion of our current state of global refugee crisis, because that is a choice no one should have to make. That being said, all of humanity was built upon the idea that we wanted, needed, aspired to explore other places, live a different life than the one presented to us, and just GO.

My mother boarded a boat in 1972 with my father, and left the only life she knew to be real; only to land in a country under dictatorship in one of the most tumultuous times in Greece’s history. My father, seven years earlier got a scholarship to go study Architecture in western Massachusetts at age 18, never having left Europe, let alone Greece before. My mother was 27 and my father 25, and looking back on it, I am quite certain the bug was in my DNA way before my father and my mother met.

My Greek ancestors were a mixture of cultures and traditions taking them to Turkey, Albania, and possibly even Northern Africa. My American ancestry leads me to villages in the UK and Germany and now I live in a city comprised of every culture under the sun, only to want to explore more of this world first hand.

Discovering new places, and our inexplicable attraction, adoration and love for lands far from our birth, is what is exciting about leading a somewhat nomadic life, yet with each place I live in, I find that it can’t give you what you seek unless you fully commit to living there. Transience isn’t something I felt comfortable with, no-matter where I lived. In Greece we have a phrase for those who’ve emigrated, to other parts of the world (and over the years it’s been millions): Whatever land you find yourself on, that is your country, that is your home. (Όπου γη και πατρίς).

With that in mind I’ve always urged others to take a leap of faith, explore, travel, live somewhere else if you can, risk comforts and familiarity because we leave our old selves behind when we have to embrace a new way of life. If we return to our place of birth; we do so with a much larger picture, a global view, a different story.

Enjoy !

Day 5/6 Hey! Look up from your phone.

https://media.giphy.com/media/l2Je3QSl3eRXKiSB2/giphy.gif

I’m a slave for you- Britney Spears

This is somewhat a departure from previous commentary and posts because it is as much a self reflection as an observation of others.

About a month ago I started a social experiment and a personal challenge.

After realizing how much time I spend on my phone (thanks to that pesky new “oh look you loser you spent a total of 8 hours on your phone today” reminder on my device), I decided to make a point of leaving my phone in my bag while I was on the subway, in public places, while walking on the street, and whenever I had the urge to “check” my social media. Something that would seem rather obvious and self explanatory became a “task” or a personal project. The reason being;

I was constantly on my phone, and apparently I’m not the only one.

Before arriving in New York six years ago from Athens, I would say I had a relatively “healthy” relationship with my now constant companion. As technology changed, so did my relationship with my phone. (yes relationship – and everyone else I’ve seen seems to have the same one too). In sharp contrast to the past, my relationships consisted of close uninterrupted conversations with friends on a regular phone, arranged face to face meetings with people I had not seen in a long time and many many long emails with my loved ones who were far away. Now at the click of a button I’m connected at any moment, I get instant responses to my pictures, writing, comments, and observations. I’m constantly reachable; even when I don’t want to be.

All these characteristics of technology are not a mystery or shockingly new to any of us who use our phones as personal assistants, friends, connecting devices, social media giants etc. What did give me a rude awakening is that nearly ALL of the people I encounter on the street, in the subway, in their cars, with their friends at a dinner table; is that the phone is starting to become an extra appendage. EVERYONE is on their phone, ALL the time, and not when they are alone; but walking, eating, getting their hair done, waiting for the train, waiting for their friend to arrive, sitting at home watching a movie, eating at home while on their phones. ALL THE TIME.

The reason I gave myself this task of unhinging my every moment from my phone is purely to walk the walk as I talk the talk to my students about mindfulness and being present.

The absence of “having something to do” at every single second of the day is becoming something of a necessity as our time becomes more and more overwhelmed with technology, social media (the sewage of the internet as was so aptly put by Lady Gaga in a recent interview) and the idea that idle time with your mind focused on just being quiet and present is seen as laziness. For the next few weeks I challenge you all as I did myself; to get off your phones for the better part of your day and see what you notice. Take pictures, read a book, get off twitter, and enjoy a fine meal without looking at your facebook profile. ENJOY.

Till then here are some pictures I took today while I was walking around noticing the world around me instead of being glued to my phone.

I encourage you all to do the same. Take a moment to look up.

*the art featured is

1. Banksy- Mobile Lovers ( Bristol, UK)

2. Bkfoxx- (East Village- Nyc)

To what comes next-

Picture by Robert Valenzuela ( @3rd.night)

I have had a recent lull to my writing, in stark contrast to the frenzy of past months. My spring feverish ideas and thoughts left freely from my brain onto the page. I truly enjoyed my every day post commitment I set out to complete back in March (birthday challenge) . Truly nothing has kept me more on my toes, than my yoga/ exercise practice and my writing.

As of late I’ve had what many would call a freeze of my creative flow. I don’t know if this is a set back or a regroup, but for what its worth, I would not be a particularly good blogger, if I didn’t share this stagnancy with my small yet powerful and encouraging audience (share my posts with your friends!).

I’m feeling a little stuck.

There are a plethora of things I want to share my thoughts on, but in this growing cacophony of opinions and thoughts my mind is becoming overwhelmed with the opinions of everybody else, to really be able to be a valid voice in the mix. The reminder that depression, and suicide is so openly discussed, took me back to my days of battling depression, and how I was able through very lucky circumstances and good people to get out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, pull myself out of dark cavernous thoughts, and figure shit out.

I battle with self doubt, body image issues, self esteem issues, and the list goes on. Yet here I am writing about it, even though I’m still stuck. I often promise I will share as much of myself as possible it’s the only way to write.

There is definitely a chaotic order to the way I convey my thoughts on this blog, and I appreciate those who’ve followed and continue to follow my musings, poetry, analysis and reflections.

For now I will leave you with a small gratitude list. When you get stuck, make one too, it helps.

I’m grateful for my health. Two dear friends who I deeply care for are battling cancer. They are warriors, who absolutely give me courage to be even better and more resilient.
I’m extremely grateful for my home here in New York. It’s a sanctuary and a quiet space, in this overwhelming city. Every night I sit on my balcony; on these warm summer nights, and smile at how blessed I am to be here. I miss Greece and my home there every waking moment, but having the opportunity to travel and live here isn’t available to many of my fellow country men and women. Thousands of refugees are still in limbo on many Greek islands bordering Turkey. Children and their families are being torn apart as we speak at US borders. As we all battle internal crisis, so much turmoil is occurring on a daily basis. That forces me to think twice before I forget where I’ve come from.
I’m grateful for rekindled and real friendships, from the embers of dead affairs. And I’m grateful I recently escaped a toxic affair before it created further damage.
I’m grateful for Art. As I’ve mentioned in past posts and I’ll say it again, Art is the only thing that can and has created meaningful change. Art touches and effects everyone in small and big ways and is and will continue to be a huge vehicle for truth, change, and progress.

I’m still stuck with my writing, but I’m grateful I can share that too. When overwhelmed with life’s rocky path, be grateful for what you have to overcome it.

May all beings be Happy and Free.

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu-

Liquid Courage

You drew me to the water’s edge and let me taste your smile.

I laughed at all your silly moves, your stupid jokes just made me swoon,

The way you adjust your shirt, was magical to me.

I stare at our reflections wondering what radical world I live in that gets to have you in it.

I’m in too deep this strange mystique is making my body overflow.

Love is like a river flowing through me.

Paint brushed skies and lines. Bridges to your heart are paved with golden light.

I just might need a minute to breathe.

Like ivory and ebony you play my tune perfectly.

Something’s come over me… it’s making the broken parts seem whole again

once again I can see the beauty within me.

My body was made to be next to yours,

a pull so profound it’s like breathing.

You make my heart swell and my chest expand

and then I remember to take a breath again.

It’s like cheating death.

My Achilles Heel (Αχίλλειος Πτέρνα)

Αχίλλειος Πτέρνα (Achilles He(A)el) — photo by Robert V. (@3rd.night)

Reflections of faces getting caught in dark spaces, with wounded hearts.

Secrets revealed in awkward glances and lost chances.

Pursed lips, and stolen glances.

Tired eyes staring into illuminated screens, reflecting, deflecting, rejecting

playing the part in a show that no one cares to watch.

And all I want to do is scream.

***

How do you measure my love and then tear it apart?

I created a love story and it fell short from the start.

It seems clear that my imagination got the best of me

Again.

***

I no longer can settle for three forths of a man.

I can’t stand (on) mediocrity in the face of perfection.

That no longer holds my attention

Any more.

How much of your comfort would you give up for love?

I guess you will never find out.

It’s never too late

1_ToIvdUMc1R8Io6qSyWFxIw@2x — @dirkartnyc (Freeman’s Alley- NYC)

It’s never too late …

The writing is on the wall.

It’s never too late to stand tall after a fall, that broke your spirit, broke your heart. Tearing you apart into a million little pieces.

It’s never too late to make a new start. It’s never too late to create art out of your passion.

Your horizons are open, take a chance, take a stance.

It’s never too late to be strong even though you know it’s wrong, to endure so much pain, and remain true to you.

It’s never too late to let go.

Be.

Here

Now.

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I was constantly on my phone, and apparently I’m not the only one.

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