Who?
Jaime
Where?
San Francisco, California
What? 
"Two compliments: 1. I think you are great at what you're doing. Everything you fixed around here looks great. Second I really enjoy your curiosity and openness in talking to me! Very fresh and inspiring."
How did he react?
"Oh thank you! That is so nice!"
How did I feel?
San Francisco is the queen of street art. Long before I first came to the Bay, Berlin and Cologne-Ehrenfeld had planted a passion for street art in me. I used to love graffiti and the small items you miss easily: The ones you only become aware of during your third or fourth time passing them. My favorite example for those were the Berlin Yoga men. They would make me smile. I loved that street art changes continuously. Everyone is constantly taking part in that big exhibition called city, both enjoying and changing the art. Street art turns cities into grown up playgrounds. All kids are invited into the sandbox as street art says: "Come, play!" to everyone. 
I still love all these things. But I have a new favorite type: Murals, San Francisco ones in particular. They are... insane. (Check out the pictures below). And I know how huge street art can be in terms of quantity. I used to think Berlin was big, now I know it's tiny. A week ago I walked through the Tenderloin, Hayes Valley and the Lower Haight for about 20 minutes. Taking a picture of almost everything I saw I realized how much there actually is. Scroll down and see what I found when walking for two miles... 
At the very end of my walk I saw a different kind of street art: A beautiful collection of Mexican tiles on a fassade. I stopped. That's when I met Jaime, the housekeeper, who was fixing a window. I asked him:
"Excuse me, is it okay if take a picture of these tiles?"
"Oh wow, are you asking me if you can photograph this house?"
"Yeah, of course!"
"You are too nice. You should absolutely go ahead!"
"Thank you so much! I dig these.."
"I know... They are wonderful, right? They are handmade, from Mexico..."

Who?
Chris
Where?
San Francisco, California
What? 
“Hey Chris!”
"Yeah?"
"I want to tell you something."
"Go ahead!"
"I hope you take this the right way. Because I mean it in the best way possible." 
"Haha, I know what's to come now! Something that sounds alright and is actually insulting!"
"No, no! No way! I mean- I guess it would be an insult to some people-but I am confident it won't be to you because your horizon is not as narrow as those guys'..."
"Alright. Listening."
"Cool! So the other day I saw you walk off in your boots, pushing your pelvis to the front and shaking your legs. That was when I realized you are a total cowboy! Kaboom. Then I started thinking. Because obviously you are not just a cowboy. So finally I came up with a list of things you are to me: 
1. A cowboy, I said that.
2. A graceful, beautiful woman. It's not just your long hair. It's how you pull it back, your female gestures and your way of moving when you are not the cowboy. I have seen you walk through a room but really what you did was dancing Flamenco- that's what I observed at least... You could teach many girls a lesson on elegance.
3. A teddy bear. I love when you come out of nowhere and wrap your arm around me. I enjoy physicality so much and I wish more people communicated their longing for touch outside of the bedroom. Especially Germans have such clear rules when comes to touch: Sometimes I just want a hug but that is something you do not ask anyone but your partner, family or best friends for in Germany... It makes me feel lonely every now and then. So thank you for being the teddy bear you are."
How did he react?
"Ha, I love that! I'll take that, all of it! Thank you."
-- we hugged. Of course.
How did I feel?
Awesome! Chris is a unique guy: A photographer who you will find writing gangsta rap lyrics in the hallway, arguing politics over dinner or enjoying some cottage cheese while reminiscing about back in the mid west days...
He is present. And very straight and clear. He goes his way yet takes time to listen. Choosing his words with deliberation he is down for discussing personal love, homelessness, social justice or helping with boy drama. His jokes are sharp and they come quick. Hanging out with Chris is a blast, I recall my laughing muscles hurting bad after a few minutes with him. Celebrating a creative allnighter with him works perfect, too: He is focused on his work yet always open for a little sharing on the side: "Have you seen that video...? Which word works better than...? What do you think about...?"
Chris is one of those people who let warmth pour out of their eyes between two winks. Playfulness and honest caring plus sarcasm at it's best turn spending time with this lady cowboy teddy bear into lively, sunny minutes. Always!
Anything else?
I didn't take a picture of him and didn't dare steal one from his facebook so I drew him. That's why...

Is he a poet? A gardener? A street worker? He is all of that. Also, he is a human living in poverty. And a psychic talent. Jimmy represents the troubled kid turning into goodness. He's an eccentric artist. A crazy blogger. I have been wondering: What should I call him? Can there be a name for someone like him?!
Yes, there can. There is.
Here you are: He no less than an absolutely exceptional creature. 
Who?
Jimmy Flowers
Where?
San Francisco, California
What?
“You are the most outstanding creature I have met in years!”
How did he react?
"Oh, well, thank you very much! That is certainly appreciated!"
How did I feel?
The first time I met Jimmy Flowers I was busking and he tipped me. No dollars, no Euros, no booze. He did put a massive loaf of bread into my case, his hand on his heart and said with a steady voice: “Thank you for your music!”. I interrupted my playing, thanked him and found myself looking at a man dressed in seventies pants with colorful patches, a jacket with a flower pattern, two scarfs and gloves. In his button holes he wore flowers. His appearance could have kept my eyes busy for minutes. He was a piece of art. Next to him stood a woman. She handed me a plastic bag for the bread. Jimmy did not approve of that. Immediately his voice hardened and he started hauling her over the coals: "No, no, we do not have plastic bags for the hungry souls we feed! I have been doing this job for years and it does not include handing out plastic bags! This is not how this works, you have to listen to me!-..." As I watched him walk off, fighting with his volunteer and a bunch of plastic bags hanging from his arms I felt sorry for the girl. And I wondered: Who was this man? What was his deal? I was between angry and fascinated- and of course thankful for the bread which later turned out to be the best bread I ever had in all of the Bay Area. 
The next night I busked again. And Jimmy returned, this time by himself. He gave me a piece of quiche. Over the course of the following weeks Jimmy turned into my steadiest donor: Night after night he passed by my favorite busking spot (in front of the Roxie's, on 16th and Valencia), each time giving me a piece of the most delicious baking goods, each time wearing a different set of clothes and each time thanking me for my music. I never witnessed him rebuking his changing female volunteers again. He became a daily part of my San Francisco life. But with me playing and him being busy on his leftover round we never chatted- until today, months past the day I first saw him. 
After returning to the city one of the first things I did was sitting down in front of the Roxie and playing. It felt good, I love that spot. Movie theater customers waiting, homeless people walking up and down the street, bartenders on their break, smoking, dog owners on their night round, mexicans vividly discussing, tourists exploring the mission. Every 15 minutes the bus spits out a residents and visitors. The air is filled with car sounds, "ID please" (there is a bar right next to the Roxie), "got a spare dollar?", my violin playing and, once a night, Jimmy's "Want some bread?". The night I came back he was there. Smiling at me he said: "Good to have you back!". I was glad to see him. By then I knew Jimmy is a good guy. A little eccentric, yes, but saying he has been through a lot is an understatement. I had asked my friends about him, turned out everyone in the Lower Haight knows and loves him. Except, I suppose, for the people who knocked out his teeth on the street. He spends all his life out there, feeding people and planting flowers- Jimmy is a guerilla gardener-; obviously even a city like San Francisco has violence and crime. Though Jimmy has been a victim to that more than once he does not stop doing what he is doing. Quite the opposite: Over the years he has increased the time invested in his altruistic and artistic activities and by now they fill his life completely. This time I sat down with him and he told me all about it. Years ago he started planting gardens on Haight and Ashbury (see video):

Every night he walks (or bikes on his decorated bike, if it is not stolen again) to a high class bakery and gets their leftovers. It takes him about an hour to hand them out to the neighborhoods "hungry souls"- they all know him. 
At the end of his route he sits down at a coffee shop and waits for the rest of them to come and get some food and warm words. Jimmy has those. He chats with whoever comes, shows appreciation and interest, listens to stories and tells some himself. This ceremony is one of the most unique and beautiful family dinners I have been a part of. While waiting for someone to arrive he writes poetry and sends it to women in social networks. He does not expect anything from them though he does mind being rejected. Keeping his profile updated and sending out the poetry takes him several hours a day. Eventually he walks home, ready to start another day of poetry, flowers and kind interactions. 
He knows he is kind and he phrases it. He speaks about his own story, too: Jimmy was born to a mother whose suicide he witnessed in his early childhood. A few years ago his sister drowned herself. Actually he lost his teeth twice and was beaten up several times. Knowing all that the man seems like a miracle to me. All he devotes to are beauty and kindness and every one of his actions is supposed to serve that aim. 
Jimmy moved me on a deep level. While I saw a hard man the first we met now that I have gotten to know him a bit I see playful roguishness in his eyes when he grins and softness since he has started trusting me. He is beautiful through and through. Yes, he does have his edges and he wears them with pride. Jimmy stands out from the crowd- thank god he does- as angels and the dead ones speak to him; Sometimes I can follow him and sometimes I can't. But I can feel he means well in everything he does and he gives without conditions. Watching him do so brought me to tears: Sitting in the coffee shop after his round with him I observed how one person after another entered and got some bread from him. Some stayed for a chat, some didn't. Jimmy treated all equally: He welcomed them warmly. He gave them bread. He introduced them to me and praised each one of them. Wishing them all the best from his heart he said goodbye. What he got in return? Nothing material. But everything else, because plain giving is the most beautiful thing on earth. I have been thinking about this a lot lately and there will be a bit of theoretical insight to come, stay tuned- partially inspired by Jimmy Flowers incredible work.
Thank you so, so much for your trust and nearness with strangers, for your way of practicing inclusion and unconditional togetherness, Jimmy. I cannot express in words what witnessing that meant to me- but it caused a strong reaction in me and I will be sure to follow whatever has been set free in sharing your presence.
I am so, so grateful to have met you. (And of course for every slice of bread ;) )

Who?
Arri
Where?
The internet
What?
"I cannot phrase how happy I am right now!"
How did she react?
She hasn't yet.
How did I feel?
There are people you run into years after you have seen them last and you wonder: "Why on earth were I ever friends with that person?!". You chat for a few awkward minutes and remember nights you drank booze you did not even like (but it was the drink back then), made fun of yourself (because that proved how lofty you were) and had a crush on someone who kept forgetting your name (but man, that person was just too cool for school). Your past friend tells you about their life, it sounds like everything is exactly the way it used to be. And you realize: Change is a great thing. Eventually there are layers of yourself you do outgrow, thank god. Soon you look at your watch and say: "I really have to run...". Maybe you hug them, because after all you did share something once, no matter how glad you are that once is not now. You wish them all the best. Then you leave. 
So there are these people. And then there are their opposites. Let me introduce you to my personal opposite: Her name is Arri.
She and I have been living in two different countries for four years. Before we were friends for three years. In all of our time apart we met once. For the rest of the 48 months my Facebook feed kept me updated on when she went on vacation and how sunny her days were there. I watched her win dance competitions on the blue whitish screen and liked the picture of her graduation day. I knew about when she had partied in Berlin and who she was hanging out with from the photos she was tagged in. The difference between her and my other Facebook friends: Each time her name was displayed I felt warmth creeping up my belly. And when I hit the "play again" button on the London Pharrell's "Happy" video she danced in I cried. Because seeing her filled me with pride. And love. And joy about the fact that she kept evolving, I could tell by the way she danced and the look on her face in the pictures. Navigating through the twenties takes a lot of work and it looked like she was doing her part. I have immense respect for that woman. Her moves touched me deep inside, in that place only authentic expression speaks to. I knew: She was connected in her motion. 
The best part: Even if she has not changed at all I know I will hug her and won't let her go for minutes next time I see her. While those past friends make you appreciate change, their opposites, the Arris, trigger gratitude for continuity. You don't talk to them in decades, then you meet and you take it right from where you stopped last time. Days, moths or years don't matter. 
My past friends- the ones that stay in the past- never got to see me. Meanwhile Arri makes me feel at home within seconds, regardless of where or when we see each other. I look into her eyes and I trust her, love everything I see and cannot wait to hear about the highways, dead ends and country lanes she has been moving upon. When I tell her about mine I open up in a way I only do with a handful of people- she is one of them. And in all those years I never had a doubt that if I called her she would be there- as I would be for her.

In a globalized world everyone always moves. A new job in Tokyo, a love in San Francisco, a school in Copenhagen. Saying goodbye has become a monthly tradition for me and my inner time difference calculator works on high speed. I can figure out the most subtle facial expressions in a blurry Skype conversation and I check the weather report for seven cities, it makes me feel closer to my friends and family abroad. I miss them. Instead of coming back usually they go further. Another new city, another offer. Returning? Not yet. Maybe never.
Today a miracle happened: I found out Arri is moving back to Berlin! I am, too.
After I had seen her Facebook post I shouted for minutes and danced. My broad smile did not leave, it still covers my face. I feel a tickling on the inside and a major glow. And one thousand bubbles, or more. The amount of joy exceeds my ability to express it by far. That reaction, I think, is the hugest compliment.
I hope I will meet Arri soon, celebrate continuity in our friendship and change in our lives. I will look at her and see the most beautiful human being. And I will open my mouth and say a hundred times: 
Welcome back, Arri! 

Who?
Taylor
Where?
San Francisco, California
What?
"This was the best set I have heard in a long time. You are one amazing musician!"
How did he react?
"Thank you very much!"
How did I feel?
So I have told you I was never much of a crazy fan. No posters up on my wall, no magazines kept in a drawer because there were pictures of Aaron or Britney or Justin in there. Just my beloved Bach and I. Okay, l have to admit: There may have been one. Or two. I did have a heavy phase with Harry Potter which included me secretly turning into Dumbledore's niece- a character I made up-, chopsticks used as wands and crazy running through the apartment, shouting "expelliarmus!". I was part of that world for years. 
The second one was Dido. Obviously my baroque musician mom did not approve of that, in fact she would enter my room and shout: "If you don't turn off this fabric softener music straight away I promise I will go off!" As soon as she'd left my room I turned white flag straight back on, sang a second voice and imagined I was Dido's duet partner on her world tour. I don't think I have ever told anyone that. 
Either way- even though I did go to a Dido concert and stared at her in awe for 70 minutes- I have never gone up to anybody and asked them for an autograph, sharing my praise with them, shivering on the inside. Until I met Taylor McFerrin.
Initially I hadn't gone to his gig for him but for Animal Collective whose supporting act he played as. I left after three songs of the Collective- I just didn't feel them- but I was amazed by every single note Taylor had played before. And by the vibe he spread. And by his countless talents...
Of course the first person I associated with McFerrin was his father, Bobby McFerrin, but once I heard Taylor play I realized he is a grown up artist of his own. I knew the moment he started: This guy was special. He seemed completely wholehearted. Starting of with a row of slow chords he immediately brought me down and softened me- doing pretty much the opposite of what I had expected from a DJ. I found myself listening to an intimate and subtle sound that moved me in a deep place. This place is one I can only allow my closest friends entrance to. On few occasions artists manage to enter, too, when they are in that exact space within themselves while playing. I know Taylor was because otherwise I would not have been touched where I was. His first five chords made me fall for his music. I was amazingly grateful to be taken to that core of mine out of the blue and rest in intimacy for a few precious moments. 

Later his sound rose. Lively rhythms moved my feet, sweet melodies made me smile and surprising chord progressions mesmerized me. Taylor DJed, played the rhodes, sang, looped his voice and had his sister sing with him- she is another family talent. The way she masters her voice left me with an open mouth. Her technique was one of the most outstanding ones I have heard in years. She danced her way up and down the stage while her face's glow showed how much she enjoyed every note she fired away. So did Taylor. As long as he was playing his body moved with the music naturally and his eyes were those of a young boy who is absorbed in his favorite game. He was all in, body, mind, soul. Once the music stopped he looked up, and suddenly turned into a man who was out of place. In the most humble voice he told the crowd: "Thank you.". Then he turned back to his rhodes- and got immersed in music again. Rarely have I experienced such a modest and honest person behind life act. 

Afterwards I saw him outside selling his album. That's when I knew I had to tell him how I felt about his music. It was weird and beautiful- walking up to that person who had just moved me in the most intimate space and talking to him for the first time- but he reacted just like he had seemed on stage: Calm, humble, friendly. And, of course, said nothing more than: "Thank you very much! I appreciate it." That's when I decided use the compliment for the blog. I told him about it and he was down for a picture. Taylor, thank you for being the first star i ever walked up to with shaky legs long after my teenage years, all because your music touched and impressed me so much I got insecure around you! Thank you for that experience! But most of all thank you for being your wonderful, modest self and for sharing your great sound.

Who?
Noah
Where?
Berkeley, California
What?
"You are the most special person I have met in months."
How did he react?
"So are you!"
How did I feel?
Me, three weeks ago:
“Yes, I teach Yoga. And I went to a Montessori school. I interpret my dreams. I eat homeopathic sugar balls, and I do believe in their effect. But I am not superstitious. Philosophy, medicine, education: Alternative approaches rock, as long as they stay real and grounded. So no fear of black cats and the number thirteen for me and no "the universe meant for this to happen." I believe in a healthy balance between myth and reasoning, I like to think we choose our paths and hold responsibility for what we do. Incidents are incidents, not fate, and it is our interpretation and reaction to them that writes our stories, not a supernatural power.”
Me, today:
“The universe-- who knows! Maybe it does pull some strings, and potentially fate exists after all...”
What happened? Noah did. No, Noah is not one of the Bay’s psychic legends. He is no magician, no spiritual leader, no palm reader. Instead Noah is a Berkeley student and one of the most scientifically interested people I have met lately. So really, what happened?!
Within one week I ran into this man three times, on Bart, in Berkeley, and in the city. You don't just meet someone in an area as big as the Bay, and you definitely don't meet them several times. There are people out here I have been wanting to see for months and we still haven’t been in the same place. But Noah, sure, wherever I went, it didn’t take too long and I was around him again incidentally. And I was fascinated by his appearance. He and I agree: We were supposed to meet. So yeah, maybe fate exists.

You know how sometimes you just click? It doesn't happen often, not on that level. With Noah the click was a burst loud enough to kick off a club beat and make all Bart passengers get up and dance. Unfortunately I was the only deaf person on the train, coming from the airport, 50 hours of travel covered my right ear and a nine hour jet lag my left. Nonetheless I knew from the moment I looked into his eyes: He was special. His glance burnt with curiosity, presence, a light smile and love. It said: "Really? Wow, that's so interesting! Tell me more! About science, about you, about anything!". He told me he studies interdisciplinary studies- an area I have been interested in for years. I was about to get excited I'd met him when my stop was announced and I started fighting with my luggage. Finally I stood outside and realized: The doors had closed and I was probably never going to see him again. I swore to myself I was going to react faster next time I'd run into someone like him. 
A week later I got my second chance. I went to an amazing event at a magic venue 20 miles from where I had first met Noah - and bumped straight into him. This time I did not leave without connecting with him. The third time I came across him in a coffee shop another few days later was just too funny to be true, but by then I already knew I wanted to get to know him no matter what, I didn't need the universe to point out to me that I should spend time with him. Nonetheless it did. Maybe.

So finally I started hanging out with Noah. There is no doubt he was the highlight of the Bay for me. The qualities his eyes promised back on Bart turned out to be one hundred percent true. He is the kind of person who takes you to their favorite Yoga class out of the blue. He fixes a ton of vegan mac and cheese. He has chats with strangers on the street. At school he raises his hand and says few but smart words. Driving down the number one he shouts to Phantom Planet's California. If you're lucky you might find him at Downtown Berkeley Bart, waiting for the train, spontaneously playing an original on the guitar. Listening to someone else play for him in return he lets the music in. There are tears in his eyes. I admire a lot in him but his ability to devote to his own feelings inspires me the most. Noah does not question what he feels, and he communicates: I haven't had such intimate conversations in a long time, walking upon a floor of total acceptance and honest interest in the other person. His open ears respond "It's fine." to everything you share. Meanwhile he stays real: Instead of blindly nodding to what you say he cerebrates and gives profound feedback. He is one of the sharpest people I know and one of the wisest, too: Not only does his mind perform outstanding logical stunts but it also walks hand in hand with his heart. He will point out deep political insights on homelessness or global warming and finish with: "And that is so, so sad.". That add does not come from a moral place but from true weltschmerz.
I had been wanting to go surfing forever and of course Noah asked me to come to Santa Cruz. I bet the universe whispered that into his ears. I sucked at surfing but nonetheless it was the best day of my trip. Again because of Noah and the way I could let go around him. We celebrated wonderful music in the car and held our faces in the sun for hours at the Beach. We practiced Yoga to the soundtrack of the waves. We snacked deluxe sandwiches and shared stories from our childhood and our last heartbreak. Later I got to experience the way he is around his beloved ones as we stayed at their home. There were open arms and the vibe's bottom line said "There's enough for everyone." and "Everything is welcome.".

I have been confident for years that love is what it all comes down to. The deepest wisdom, the greatest insight, the highest state and the most basic one. It is also the hardest place to enter because fears cover it. Love requires sensitivity that the world around us blocks. But once we give into it it permeates us and whoever is open to it. Before I met Noah I was cut off that place, and I found it again through his eyes and the way he interacted with me. Spending time with Noah was a very healing experience. I don't call many people "good friends". But Noah is one of them. I know it does not make a difference if we see each other tomorrow or in two years, we'll just take it right from where we stopped. 
Because I feel safe around him and appreciated, and when I eye him I see a beautiful, light creature full of life and fine antennas that let him feel the most subtle colors and characteristics around him and breathe them in. I can't think of a connection more valuable than that. Looking at it now I am absolutely sure the universe held on to the idea of us meeting. And I am thankful it didn't stop telling me so until I understood what this was all about. I do so now: It was - and is- all about love. 
Love to you and your beautiful love, family and friends, Noah!

At Burning Man Decompression there is no way of picking one candidate out of the crowd. Everyone is art and beauty: Nowhere else have I seen diversity and colors, forms and cultures jamming together so happily and freely. I couldn't take my eyes off of the countless costumes and beautiful dance moves, the smiling glitter faces and exchanging of hugs, the meditators and the druggy bouncers, the kids playing next to transvestites who were deeply engaged in an intellectual conversation while over their heads a naked crowd played hide and seek in a tree. 
I had random high fives approaching me, "Fuck yeah!" stamps on my forehead, danced tango with strangers, jammed a little violin on the pavement. The soundscape: Beats, languages and whoops. The smell: Street food, patchouli, weed, old spice. The feeling: overwhelmed with awesomeness.
In an infinite surrounding of joy and aesthetics there are uncountable compliment opportunities... Unfortunately I arrived shortly before dusk so I couldn't take too many pictures but here's who I met in my first 10 minutes: 
Who?
Lots of Burners
Where?
San Francisco, California
What?
"I dig your costume! It is super impressive (beautiful/stunning/...). I especially like... May I take a picture of you?"
How did they react?
All of them were open and down for a picture. All of them hugged me. All of them said: "Thanks, that is the sweetest thing!"
How did I feel?
I've said it before- absolutely amazed. And slightly overwhelmed...

Burning man haiku...

...Burning man!? What is this all about? Check the link on top. Short explanation: It's a festival happening once a year at black rock city, a town that exists only for the duration of the burn. But really it is a universe people - the burners - find themselves at home at year after year, creating a community based on these ten principles:

Who?
Austin
Where?
San Francisco, California
What?
"You are one of the greatest people I know and the absolute most incredible Yoga teacher."
How did he react?
"Thank you so much. That totally enters my heart. Hearing this is amazing."
How did I feel?
The deeper a compliment goes the harder it is to find the right words for this section. What did I feel? Everything I feel for Austin, which is immense gratitude and respect, nearness and appreciation, admiration and care- and countless other positive things. Let's start at the beginning though:
I first met him last February. He was giving community Yoga classes at the center SF, a beautiful artist collective in the Lower Haight. After my first session with him I didn't miss a single class throughout my entire stay. I canceled dates, trips and jams, I came in early. Why? 
Because he is the most real Yoga teacher I know. Both of his feet on the ground, a wink in his eye and hands acting from his heart he does take you on a vinyasa journey that is playful but does not flow over all the deep sensations. He makes you breathe through it all, the tears, the crap, the pain. It's in the paste he chooses and in his voice, that firm yet sensitive tone. Resisting it's calling for presence is hard. Yoga with Austin is work. Physically, emotionally, energetically. And fun, always: Reducing the amount of words spoken to a minimum he never cuts back on jokes. They are part of his staying in touch with his students throughout the whole class. That starts with an inquiry. He asks everyone: "How are you? What are you bringing on the mat today?" Rarely do I see that in Yoga yet it makes the biggest difference. During the class he encourages communication. Yoga is not entertainment: We're all in this together, teacher and students, and as a student you are allowed to speak, too. Right? Just watch out you are not using the jokes as a way sidestepping yourself is what he would say. Take it seriously in a light way.
He trusts his gut: "That feels right." is his signpost, for giving a class and for his life, no matter what size he is looking at: He came to San Francisco for an office job. Now he is full time Yoga teacher. When he was offered making a name for himself in the Yoga business world he first said yes, then figured the particular setting just wasn't him and stepped back. Austin is my role model in terms of consequence. If I end up making the life decisions he has gone for because I value personal integrity higher than money, power or recognition I will think of him and be thankful for his lead. 
When he hugs you it's one of those real hugs. Warm, long yet grounded. He makes sure every student gets their personal hello, a catch up or proper introduction and a heartfelt goodbye. In between classes he hurries home to walk his dog. 
Four qualities take shifts in occupying his eyes: Love, spontaneity, teasing and clarity. No matter what schedule these four are on Austin is always present. In his own amazing way. He never hides his being human, a person on his own path, teaching only what he himself has experienced so far. His clear and reasonable physical alignment mirrors that. And his naked wisdom. No magic, no higher path. He keeps it simple: "You are whole.". Can't feel that right now? There may be different reasons for that. One of them could be a breakdown waiting for you to give in. If that is true for you Austin's presence, care and his skills will provide a safe space. He won't leave you alone on your mat. Instead he will look you in the eye and stay with you for as long as you need him to go through with your experience. He will hold the space, his gaze filled with love and clarity. After an intense round of work, that you can be sure of, humor and spontaneity are going to take over. The four qualities' shifts are evenly distributed. He's Austin, after all. He will give you one of his hugs, joke a little, then go and walk the dog before he is en route to his next class, living the life he chose for himself- and enriching countless people's lives. 
Austin- thank you so, so much for that. 
Anything else?
Yeah! He just started teaching at Yoga Tree, a wonderful Yoga studio in San Francisco. If you happen to be in the Bay come over to Yoga Tree Castro on Thursday. I will be supporting Austin by playing the violin and singing! It'll be a blast. Looking forward to seeing you on the mat!