Bourdainism and Greece: Women Should Take Back Their Power, Bursting the Insulated Tech Bubble With Art, Ali and I Are Kindred Spirits After All—Except David Bowie, Of Course

I think most people assume my spontaneity is a bit. A performance. A cute personality quirk you can laugh at over brunch.

Until they test my gangster.

I’m sorry, reader—but I did promise to be my authentic self, and I fear I have no eloquent way to convey this without just… telling you exactly what happened.

In our first Writer’s Group, I’d mentioned to Ali that I’d never been to Greece, and I’d love to visit someday. She said, “You should come sometime! I’d love for you to stay over. I’ve a spare bedroom.” Bless her heart—I hope she truly meant that, because in less than two minutes, while still on the call, I’d booked the flight.

That’s the thing about “sometime” with me. It has a timestamp.

You see, I’d spent the majority of my youth trapped (for lack of a better word) in one marriage after another. And now I realize something almost comical in its clarity: I am too free to be trapped in yet another one.

Unless my unicorn partner does exist, and they better my life, of course. But truthfully? I’m probably too independent for most, and that’s fine with me. Ali thinks it’s because I’m quite lucky with options now, but I suspect I’ve had enough of partnership (especially men and their impossible egos) for a lifetime. But who knows what happens.

Anyways. Ali lives in Varkiza, which is a quaint “suburbian” area of Greece. Make no mistake, friends: this is still far from the suburbs of the United States. The roads are narrow. The buildings, even the modern ones…look like they’ve had a Romanticism brushstroke painted right over them, like the country can’t help but be poetic even when it’s trying to be practical.

Citrus trees are everywhere, and the white buildings offer this picturesque contrast that makes you feel like you’ve wandered into a film you weren’t invited to, but the universe waved you in anyway.

(Also: I cannot imagine what the HOA meetings are like in Greece. If you think Latin women are fiery, you should see an angry Greek woman. As a matter-of-fact, as I sit here writing this portion at the Athens airport, I was screamed at by a lady working at RyanAir—and I promise you, I never want to be on the receiving end of that again.)

One of the first things I did in Greece was get my wedding dress tailored. Which sounds either devastating or unhinged depending on your mood, but for me it was… both, and also neither. It’s a pretty transformative time for me. Taking back my power.

You see, I grew up in an environment where women are expected to shrink to fit. All the interesting women are labeled “difficult,” and I certainly didn’t want that—not as someone who was an illegal immigrant, and certainly not one who was living in the projects, then bounced around people’s couches. I was taught to be quiet, agreeable, and thankful.

And gratitude has carried me a lot. I’m blessed to have a life filled with opportunities.

But I look back and cringe at the sheer imbalance of it all…the amount of giving versus receiving I’d done. My second marriage is a testament to that.

I will never wish anyone ill, no matter how poorly a relationship ended. But I can say this: it wasn’t equitable. And I also wasn’t about to let my fairy-tale dress, purchased from Woodstock, New York—go to waste.

So now it’s my lovely brunch dress.

And honestly? That felt like the perfect way to kick off my second leg on my “Bourdainism” world tour: Europe.

I met Ali’s twin sons: Twinsanity (please do check them out)—and I have not only been addicted to their music, but genuinely moved by their depth. Because here’s the difference between the world I came from and the world I keep insisting on building: in the States, it’s way too common to go down rabbit holes of “What do you do?” as if your job title is your soul’s LinkedIn headline.

A few weeks ago, I was invited to my colleague’s Christmas party, and I remember meeting a CEO of sorts, and I, in a (humorous) way, couldn’t help but ask: “Who are you, outside of your resume? What do you like to do?”

And it was taken quite well, surprisingly. I think we’re all sick of it; truthfully. We want to be more. We want to express ourselves. Why else do people go to these electronic festivals? I’m sorry, but it can’t possibly be just the music.

In Greece, no one asks you this. It’s not because they don’t care. It’s because they assume you’re a human being first. The “what do you do” isn’t a password; it’s just a detail.

I had a lovely dinner conversation with Ray (part of Twinsanity), and I was impressed by his wealth of historical knowledge—even on my own heritage. And I realized quickly in this group of friends: Ah. Creatives were the people I’d been chasing all along, for good reason.

I love what I do in Technology. I do. But I love exercising creative solutions, and I hate being put in a process-cage nightmare. I love being able to unite people. So any chance I get, I try and marry the two worlds—and I’m grateful to keep running into people on both sides of the fence.

Too often, especially in Austin, we’re insulated in a Technology Bubble. As “weird” as Austin is, it’s simply not as self-aware as the rest of the world. Most people I meet with think I’m some sort of alien. They’re simply insulated.

And I’d be remiss not to mention some eerie similarities between Ali and I, and some nice balancing qualities too. Ali is quite “on”, and I’m quite “off”, often.

But most of all: Ali is sexy as fuck. I know—she doesn’t believe me, not at “her age” or whatever society’s brainwashed her into believing.

I won’t embarrass her too much, but she’s a splitting image of Cameron Diaz.

Reader, do you think I was Punk Rock back in the day? (Remember my pixie/buzz cut grown out from: The Backstory: My First Marriage, Osama Bin Laden, A Punk Rock Coming of Age Story?)

Well, I want to end this digestible reflection with a nudge to the most incredible tour guide, Alison Bux, by saying this:

I’m sorry, Ali—but amongst all of the historical lessons you gave me, one memory is etched in my brain:

Ali shared the same air as David Bowie.

Alison, you must write that story—and I’ll keep writing my memoir, just for you. I know I lived a crazy life. And maybe I’ll give you a sneak preview of the Four C’s. And just maybe, we’ll do an in-depth dive into my love affair with souvlaki and Greek history.