I grew up in Greenwich Village. Dad was friends with John Lennon

In the words of Yancy Butler, “I grew up in Greenwich Village. Dad was friends with John Lennon and Yoko Ono.” What may seem a simple recollection of childhood roots is, in truth, a window into a living age of art, rebellion, and awakening. To grow up in Greenwich Village was not merely to live in a place — it was to breathe in an era. The Village, that cradle of song and poetry, was a realm where the walls trembled with music, where painters, poets, and dreamers gathered to shape the unseen future. To be born among them was to be raised by the spirit of creation itself.

Greenwich Village was more than a neighborhood; it was a temple of the unconventional, a forge where the ordinary soul was melted and reformed in the fires of freedom. Those who dwelt there did not bow to the gods of conformity. They walked through streets alive with dissent and hope, where folk singers sang of justice, and painters painted the pulse of revolution. To grow up in such a place was to inherit the courage to speak, the defiance to imagine, and the tenderness to see the sacred in struggle.

When Yancy Butler speaks of her father’s friendship with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, she evokes a lineage of artistry that transcends blood. Lennon and Ono were not merely musicians; they were warriors of the invisible — voices that dared to sing of peace amid chaos, of love amid division. To walk among such souls is to glimpse the height to which the human spirit may soar. It is to learn that art, at its truest, is not entertainment but revelation.

In ancient days, the youth who walked beside philosophers or prophets were shaped not by words alone, but by the living fire of example. So too, Yancy’s words remind us that heritage is not about fame or fortune, but about the soul’s exposure to greatness. The child of artists learns to see beauty where others see decay, to find rhythm in silence, and to seek truth even when it hurts. As the young Alexander learned wisdom from Aristotle, so do all of us inherit unseen mentors — through the stories, songs, and courage of those who came before.

Yet, there is humility in this remembrance. For to be born in a place of brilliance is not to be guaranteed greatness. It is to be given a torch — one that must be carried with both reverence and responsibility. The legacy of John Lennon and Yoko Ono was not one of luxury, but of labor — the endless work of awakening hearts. They stood before nations and sang for peace, not because the world was kind, but because they believed the human spirit could be kinder. Such is the weight of being raised near the flame: it may warm you, or it may burn you, depending on how you hold it.

In this, there is a lesson for all who listen: do not envy those born among the luminous. Rather, learn to find your own Greenwich Village — that sacred space where your spirit can breathe, create, and connect with others who dream as you do. You need not befriend legends to live a legendary life; you must only walk the path of authenticity. Build friendships with those who challenge you to be better. Seek teachers who stir your heart, not flatter your mind.

Let the Village of your life be wherever you choose to nurture your inner fire — be it in a city, a small town, or within your own solitude. Surround yourself with those who sing of hope and truth, and let their courage echo through your days. Create as Lennon created — not for glory, but for love. And remember, as Yancy Butler’s words remind us, that our beginnings are more than origins; they are sacred seeds, waiting for us to bloom into the people our ancestors dreamed we could be.

So walk forth, child of time, and honor your own lineage — whether born of fame or quiet devotion. For to grow up among the brave is a blessing, but to become brave yourself — that is destiny fulfilled.