A Jamaican Adventure: Pain, Confusion and a Broken Marriage
By: Baron Stewart
In 1972, I entered the mathematics department at Stony Brook, riding a high from my undergraduate successes, confident that I could replicate my past achievements. However, I was quickly plunged into a world where discussions of Algebraic Geometry, Algebraic Topology, and Differential Geometry left me bewildered and insecure. I vividly recall sitting with a professor for an hour and a half, hoping that a slower pace would reveal clarity—only to leave more confused than before. The stark realization that brilliant peers outmatched me filled me with paralyzing self-doubt, and the pressure of impending comprehensive exams in Algebra, Real Analysis, Complex Analysis, and Topology loomed over me.
To regain control, I turned to pursuits that made me feel competent. I became an excellent tennis player and started beating many of my fellow graduate students at chess—small victories that temporarily masked my academic inadequacies. I also found solace in the small but vibrant Jamaican community at Stony Brook. Lister, an undergraduate who played Reggae on the university radio every Saturday, introduced me to a world of lively Saturday Reggae parties and Thursday night dances at Chesters with the Full Hand Reggae Band. I reconnected with William Fowler Thomas, a fellow PhD student from KC, and through these friendships, I discovered a support system that helped me navigate the overwhelming new environment.
Despite the warmth of these social circles, I spent my first year focused primarily on preserving my mental health rather than catching up academically. I deliberately avoided confronting the challenging coursework, using my newfound hobbies and community ties to cover up my fear of failure. An even more profound crisis was unfolding in my personal life. At the same time, my marriage to Lennette was unraveling. While I was immersing myself in the vibrant and unpredictable world of Stony Brook, Lennette clung to her life in Manhattan—cherishing weekends spent with her mother and sister and yearning to recapture the past. Our lives, once intertwined, were diverging. We would come together for only a few hours each night, a paltry overlap compared to the dynamic future I was beginning to embrace. Her offhand remark that if she hadn’t known me before, she wouldn’t even speak to me now pierced me, confirming that our dreams and identities had irreparably parted ways.
Toward the end of that first turbulent year, a critical insight emerged: many around me had the luxury of failing and trying again, cushioned by family safety nets, while I had none. With the second year upon me and the threat of disaster imminent, I made a bold decision. I struck an unusual deal with the head of the math department: I would teach him tennis in exchange for his mentorship in math. This unconventional arrangement bolstered my academic confidence and led to a pivotal advisor-mentee relationship that ultimately helped me pass my comprehensive exams.
Reflecting on this period, I realize I never overcame my self-doubt by simply banishing it; instead, I learned to confront it head-on. I discovered that the academic and personal struggles were not signs of failure but catalysts for growth. My journey taught me that running from your challenges only deepens their grip and that embracing the discomfort of transformation can pave the way to an unexpected yet profound breakthrough. My message to anyone facing seemingly insurmountable obstacles is to stay present, face your fears, and trust that every painful loss can lead to a brighter, more authentic future.
Meanwhile, my marriage to Lennette was unraveling as new chapters of my life unfolded. We had gradually drifted into two parallel existences with little overlap. While Lennette worked in Manhattan—spending weekends with her mother and sister—I was immersed in the vibrant, expansive world of Stoney Brook, meeting new people and discovering the benefits of life in mainstream America. Our time together shrank to a few fleeting hours each night and sporadic weekends, hardly enough to bridge the growing gap between us. Lennette yearned to return to the past, clinging to familiar comforts, while hunger for the future drove me.
Our divergent paths became even more apparent when we moved from our apartment to share a house with two graduate students, Carol and Leslie Lasker, from South Africa. Leslie was pursuing his PhD in Physics, and Carol was working toward hers in English—a living testament to Stoney Brook’s spirit of inclusiveness. We devised a plan for Lennette to earn a degree at Hunter College in New York to foster growth. I would mentor her in math, Carol in English, and Leslie in science. Lennette, a devoted and capable secretary, embraced her studies to broaden her skills. Yet, even as we all sought to expand our horizons, it became painfully clear that our aspirations were pulling us in different directions.
One day, Lennette remarked that if she hadn’t known me before, she might not even speak to me now—a comment that resonated deeply. She believed all I needed to do was keep her stimulated and engaged while she managed the finer details of our life together. Reflecting on her words, I recognized that my need for stimulation was being met elsewhere—through the new people, experiences, and opportunities I encountered at Stoney Brook. Our differing dreams, values, and lifestyles had created a rift too wide to bridge without compromising who we are.
In the end, I came to believe that no amount of compromise could reconcile our fundamental differences. My experience has taught me that sharing core values and aspirations with your significant other is essential before embarking on the journey of marriage.