June Journals

It's July, but here's a glimpse into a journal from June while living on an island in Greece.

June 19, 2025

I’m sitting in a pink cafe in Mytilline, Greece. They are blasting a techno version of a 2000’s song and here I am under a giant umbrella with a modern line-drawn mermaid over my head. Plants are decorating the outside space to make for a creative and lively street life atmosphere. That’s what I love about this Mediterranean island culture - life happens outside. The streets come alive as people dine and dash and dance through the alleyways, escaping the beating heat until the sun goes down.

I love it here: the slow pace; the small community feel; the helpful neighbors. The kids hanging with their fishing lines in the harbor as soon as school gets out for summer. The fishermen, the cafes that have no menus and basic plastic chairs on a street corner. The beautiful sea and colorful plates of food decorating the tables, which really don’t smash so often, only if you’re in a tourist trap. But here on Lesvos, I have not experienced thus far the tourism grabbing gimmicks found familiar on other Greek Islands I’ve been to.

Of course (which I have come to learn is a common Greek response which is meant to be welcoming and inviting, but as Americans can sometimes be taken as a rude response simulating “duh” in a classy form), this island is known for lesbians, refugees and olive trees. It seems to attract an eclectic variety of the human species that I have found intriguing to familiarize myself with. You can find Palestinians who’ve traversed the seas by dinghy, and Israelis who’ve flown their way here for asylum. Lesbians looking for new lovers on nude beaches, and conservative Christians covered up looking to love the Lord through acts of service. Wealthy world class citizens traversing the winds on their sailing vessels docked in a village of working class olive farmers who have been living in the same village tucked away in the mountains for generations.

This cafe has made use of the outside overflow to take up residence on this narrow, winding street. I can hear the echos of a deep Greek voice reverberating from another building nearby. What may sound like an aggressive argument is just an everyday conversation with a neighbor.

The catchphrase on its window is telling me “you are exactly where you’re supposed to be”. And I can’t help but sense this to be true. At least I want it to be. I’ve had a lot of questions lately about how to know if you’re where you’re supposed to be. Can you know or is it simply where you choose to be? Maybe both. Doesn’t God position us in particular places at a particular time for His particular purposes for our lives? But I suppose it’s not necessarily in our control to get there, only to walk step by step with Him, day by day.

It’s uncomfortable but freeing at the same time. If we remain in our comfort I suppose we have chosen to stop growing. Your growth process may just look different than others. Or even your own processes from the past. Which is what makes it uncomfortable, after all.

A woman just passed by me with a tattoo on her upper back that says “go find yourself”. I think it’s quite ironic to be on her back, a place she could never see herself. Will she be perpetually looking for herself, only to realize one day that what she was looking for was there with her the whole time, she just couldn’t see it? How do you know when you “find” yourself? Is there an innate human need to discover who you really are? Is it possible to know who you are without the hand of a Divine Maker revealing His designs to you? Why does it matter in the grand scheme of life to know who you are?

Because the truth will set you free. If you’re not walking in your God-given identity, then you’re in captivity. It affects your entire family tree. It takes time and patience to see, and to be who you were created to be.

This rhyme just popped into my mind, is it me or is it divine? Where is the line? In the darkness light can shine. Is it His or is it mine? Either way, it will all be fine. Good things take their time.

I will say that time is on a completely different speed here. It goes to show that time to a certain extent is a man-made construct. At least how we break it up and use it, and the expectations we place upon ourselves within it. I’m learning to slow down and to detach from the American hurried, busy, rushed lifestyle. I can feel my nervous system healing. Things can happen organically even though it feels slow. We’ve just become accustomed to producing fruit in every season, even when it’s not their season. It doesn’t taste as good, but at least we can have it whenever and wherever we want. Even if we need to pump chemicals into it to make it available to all.

It’s very interesting how food can show us so much about a culture. How it’s made and how it’s eaten. What does the American food tell us about our culture? Food for thought 💭