How I Fell in Love with My Passion

The Spark That Started It All

Growing up in Athens, my family dinners were legendary. Not in the world-renowned, white-tablecloth kind of way, but in the kind of chaos that teaches you everything you need to know about love, life, and the art of a good debate. Imagine a roomful of philosophers disguised as restaurateurs, passionately arguing about the merits of Plato’s cave allegory while simultaneously critiquing a moussaka recipe. My uncles believed everything could be solved with a properly made tzatziki, while my aunts argued—correctly, mind you—that love is essentially just good timing with a side of spanakopita.

Back then, I didn’t realize I was marinating (pun intended) in the essence of my future passion: connection. Not just romantic connection, though that’s part of it, but the kind of human connection that can only happen when someone looks you in the eye, tells you their truth, and lets you devour a piece of their heart—metaphorically or otherwise.

At the time, I thought love was a simple recipe: good looks, witty banter, and—a non-negotiable—a mutual hatred of country music (don’t judge me; I was 17). But the more I listened to those family debates, the more I understood that love, in all its forms, is about showing up, being curious, and sharing something real. And that’s how my passion snuck up on me: the pursuit of connection, in love and in life. Oh, and also tzatziki.

Discovering the Ingredients of Authentic Connection

Fast forward to university, where I studied Philosophy and mastered profound life questions like “What is beauty?” and “Do I really need to pull an all-nighter for tomorrow’s exam, or can I wing it on three hours of sleep and a double espresso?” While Aristotle and Socrates became my intellectual companions, my real-world education happened over ouzo-fueled conversations in Athenian tavernas.

Nothing teaches you about the human condition quite like a heart-to-heart with a stranger willing to share their story. I’d sit there, sharing mezze and dissecting the subtleties of heartbreak, ambition, or the perfect way to grill sardines. I learned that everyone—from the gruff fisherman nursing a strong coffee to the Erasmus student experimenting with neon hair dye—was just trying to feel a little more understood.

Connection, I discovered, wasn’t about impressing someone with your credentials or perfectly quoting “The Republic.” It was about being curious enough to lean in and say, “Tell me more.” (Pro tip: This also works remarkably well on first dates. Trust me.)

Key takeaway? Authentic connection is built on three principles:
- Presence: Put your phone down. Seriously. (Your Instagram feed isn’t going anywhere.)
- Curiosity: Ask questions that matter, not just “What do you do?” Try “What’s the most exciting thing in your life right now?”
- Generosity: Share your own story, even the messy or embarrassing parts. Vulnerability is magnetic.

Love, Crete Style

A few years later, I found myself running a boutique hotel on a sun-drenched Greek island. Crete, to be exact—and let me tell you, there’s nothing more romantic than an island sunset, except perhaps the unsolicited advice of an elderly Cretan woman. One guest, a honeymooner, asked me why I’d traded a bustling city like Athens for an island life. I told her the truth: “Every love story deserves a beautiful setting.”

It was on Crete that my passion deepened, not only for storytelling but for facilitating others' moments of connection. I’d see couples rekindle their spark over a plate of fresh seafood, strangers bonding over a shared bottle of wine, or solo travelers falling a little in love with themselves amidst the quiet of the mountains. And I realized that my passion wasn’t just connection—it was helping others discover theirs.

Cue a parade of awkward but instructional moments. Like the time I accidentally interrupted a marriage proposal (whoops—poor timing with the dessert special). Or the time I set two solo guests at the same breakfast table because they’d both mentioned they loved cats. (Reader, they’re still together—and they have three cats now.) I became a matchmaker in the broadest sense of the word, fostering an atmosphere where love—romantic, platonic, or even just self-love—could flourish.

Lessons from the Heart (and the Stomach)

What does all this have to do with my life now? Writing about relationships—whether it’s the thrill of first dates or the patience of long-term love—is just another way of pursuing my passion. It’s like cooking: you gather the ingredients of human experience, season with humor and wisdom, and serve it up in a way that nourishes people’s hearts.

Want to know what I’ve learned from a lifetime of observing love (and sneaking bites of saganaki in the process)? Here are some practical, bite-sized truths:

  • Love isn’t a checklist. Stop looking for someone who ticks all your boxes; instead, look for someone who inspires you to throw the list out.
  • Romance is in the tiny things. A goodnight text, sharing the last bite of dessert, holding hands during a bad movie—those moments matter more than grand gestures.
  • Conflict isn’t the opposite of love. Silence is. Moussaka tastes better reheated, and relationships can too—if you’re willing to talk and simmer through the tough spots.
  • Celebrate imperfection. Whether it’s a burned batch of baklava or a misstep in a new romance, the quirky imperfections are often the most cherished memories.
  • Be brave. Flirting, falling, fumbling—it’s all vulnerable work. But the effort pays off.

From Flirt to Familiar

Today, I write to help others see what I was lucky enough to grow up with: the beauty of connection in all its forms. Whether it’s found in a shared laugh across a taverna table or in the quiet, powerful moments of a decades-long relationship, love is always a little messy, a little unpredictable, and endlessly rewarding.

So here’s my advice to you: Stay curious. Ask more questions. Be a little braver. And above all, don’t be afraid to share your tzatziki recipe—or whatever piece of your heart you’re holding back. Because love, like food, is best enjoyed when shared.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s an argument brewing over dinner about whether feta is appropriately salty this season. Aristotle would say life is about balance; my uncles say it’s about cheese. Either way, connection is always on the menu.