A Jamaican Experience: Seeking Balance

By: Baron Stewart

Journeys Toward Balance

I don’t know if the incident with the mirror that Christmas was the catalyst, but something had shifted in me. My technical career had been the driving force behind everything I did for years. Success at IBM wasn’t just my ambition—it was my identity. But without realizing it, I had started to make different choices. Unexpected ones. Choices that pulled me away from the steady, logical, left-brain world where I had always felt so at home.

The order processing system development project was supposed to be completed in July, with Keith leading it. I had done my part—requirements, design, structure—but Keith was in charge now. And it wasn’t going smoothly. The deadlines kept slipping. July turned into August, August into September. The expectation was clear: I would stay with the project until the end. That was the way things were done.

But I had already scheduled a trip to Greece with Sundarii. A promise I made to myself long before Keith’s delays. It wasn’t just a vacation—it was the beginning of something I couldn’t fully name yet, but I knew it mattered.

So, I made a decision that surprised everyone, including myself. I left. I went on that trip.

The reaction back at IBM was predictable. John, my manager, was stunned. When the project was finally delivered, Keith and the rest of the team received awards. I did not. The official reason was that I had already received recognition the year before. But I knew the real reason. I had left before the finish line. In their eyes, I had stepped away.

But something in me had changed. I had spent years cultivating an overdeveloped left brain. Now, I was searching for balance. For something more intuitive, more creative. That decision—to leave the project behind—wasn’t about quitting. It was about choosing. And it was the first step in a search to define the next phase of my life.

Greece: The Awakening

My trip to Greece with Sundarii was eye-opening in every sense. We flew into Athens and stayed in the Plaka district, just beneath the Acropolis. At night, we drank the harsh-tasting retsina wine on the terrace and watched the glow of ancient stone under floodlights. During the day, we wandered through ruins, feeling history beneath our feet.

But it wasn’t until we left Athens that the real journey began.

From Piraeus, we caught a ferry to Mykonos. We had no plans, no reservations. As the ferry docked, locals stood along the pier offering rooms. We chose a kind man and followed him to his house outside town. It looked fine—until we took our showers, and the drainage failed. Water ran out of the bathroom and across the floors. That was all we needed to see.

We packed up and walked back into town, laughing at the unpredictability of it all. Eventually, we found a small, clean, simple place in the center. We dropped our bags and set out to explore.

At one point, we stepped into a photographer’s shop, admiring the stunning images of the island hanging on the walls. As I crossed the threshold, I heard a voice behind me. “Oh my! A Jamaican.” I turned to see the photographer smiling at me, and for a moment, I thought he might be making a pass. It was playful, curious, and warm but caught me off guard. SSundariand I exchanged a glance, chuckled, and slipped out of the shop. I was starting to realize that Mykonos was not an ordinary place.

The First Night: Dancing and Discovery

That first evening, Sundarii ran into a friend she knew from her travels who invited us to a beach party at Elia the next day. But for now, we stayed in town and found ourselves at a bar owned by a charismatic Greek man. He was surrounded by women, hosting in a casual, chaotic, and compelling way.

At his table was a beautiful blonde woman who we soon learned was Margarette.

We hit it off with her almost immediately. She didn’t speak much English but smiled easily and radiated warmth. After a few drinks, we decided to dance. The three of us went to the dance floor, where the music was loud, the air warm, and the energy electric.

As I danced with Margarette, I felt completely present in my body, something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. But it wasn’t simple. Throughout the night, gay men would deliberately bump into me—seeking my attention, flirting boldly. Some were playful, others more forward. I wasn’t used to it, and I was still adjusting. Growing up in Jamaica, where homophobia was deeply ingrained, I carried a lot of internalized discomfort. Now, I was confronting it in a place where everything was more complimentary, where the boundaries I’d always known didn’t exist in the same way.

Later, the photographer from earlier found me and asked me to come with him to his shop. I declined, and when I stepped outside for air, a German man approached me directly, asking if I would sleep with him. No games. Just a simple, startling question. I politely said no.

It was a wild night. Sensory overload. The realization that this was a different world from anything I’d known was settling in fast. And yet, I wasn’t running from it. I was trying to find my footing.

As the night ended, Margarette invited us to have breakfast with her the following day. We said yes.

The Next Day: Elia and the Beach

The following morning, we met Margarette at a small café for breakfast. Afterward, as planned, we caught a boat out to Elia Beach to meet Sundarii’s friend.

As we sailed past Super Paradise and Paradise beaches, I noticed something I hadn’t fully understood the night before. Groups of naked men sunbathed in large numbers. That’s when it hit me: Mykonos was a gay island. I wasn’t opposed to anyone’s lifestyle, but the deep-seated cultural conditioning from Jamaica made it physically uncomfortable for me at times. And then there was the nudity. Most beaches were clothing-optional, but nobody seemed to wear anything in practice.

When we arrived at Elia Beach, Sundarii’s friend welcomed us—completely naked. Looking around, we saw beautiful women sunbathing nude, entirely at ease. Without much hesitation, Sundarii and I stripped down and joined them. Margarette did the same; soon, we were lying together on the sand.

The party atmosphere was relaxed. We drank beer and enjoyed the sun. My quiet task that day was rubbing suntan oil into Sundarii and Margarette’s bare skin. It was hard to believe this was my life—there, on a beach in Greece, with two beautiful women. I tried to stay composed, though I suspected anyone nearby could sense my excitement.

At one point, as I massaged oil into their backs, a man walked over and asked if he could join us. I smiled and politely declined. He left without any fuss. It was that kind of place—boundaries were fluid, but respect was part of the culture.

We stayed on the beach until late afternoon, then returned to our apartment. Sundari and Margarette showered and dressed for the evening. In Mykonos, you’re naked by day and nearly naked by night. They wore light, flowing fabrics that hinted at everything and revealed almost nothing. Heads turned as we walked through town together.

That Night: An Invitation

We had dinner together and, once again, received the best table without asking. There was something about the three of us—the energy, the connection. We drew attention everywhere we went.

Later, we returned to the Greek man’s bar. He was holding court as always, surrounded by women, juggling relationships with little concern for convention. I watched him with curiosity, but I was focused elsewhere.

At some point in the evening, Margarette spoke softly to Sundarii. A look passed between them—one I didn’t fully understand then but followed without hesitation.

“Let’s go back to your place,” she said.

What followed isn’t something I can easily explain. It wasn’t what I expected. But it changed me.

Some experiences don’t need to be shared in detail. They stay with you because of how they open you. They show you a world far larger than you believed and that you are freer than ever.

Afterward: Departures and Serendipity

After that, we spent a couple of days with Margarette, exploring more of the island and even taking a trip to the volcanic islands nearby. But eventually, things shifted. Word spread that the Greek man—our charismatic host—had realized Margarette was missing from his usual crowd. People said he was looking for her.

It felt like the right time for her to leave.

Before she did, we exchanged contact information with quiet promises to meet again. Then she was gone.

Sundari and I continued traveling, visiting Ios, Naxos, and Santorini. Each island had its rhythm and gifts. Then, we boarded the ferry back to Athens.

During the ride, Sundarii noticed a man watching her. There was something familiar about him. She walked over and struck up a conversation.

“Are you from New York?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“From Long Island?”

“Yes.”

“Stony Brook?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Sheep Pasture Road?”

He laughed. “Yes.”

He was her neighbor—thousands of miles from home, on a ferry in the middle of the Aegean Sea.

We live in a small world. No matter how far you go, some things—and people—are closer than you think.

My time in Greece began as an escape or maybe a search for something I couldn’t yet name. But by the end, it had given me so much more: encounters with people who opened doors, experiences that challenged my sense of self, and a new understanding of internal and external freedom.

I came to Mykonos thinking it would be a vacation. When I left, I knew it had been the start of something much more significant.

Reflections on a Life Reimagined

Looking back, I think I left IBM’s project not because of the delays or frustration but because I was searching for a better fit. It was like living in a cave; someone told me there was life outside. I didn’t know what that life was, but the possibility of it pulled at me. I was ready to leave the shadows behind and step toward something I couldn’t yet define.

Sundarii was my girlfriend then. We had successfully traveled to Italy the year before, and I think, in many ways, she was the catalyst for what I now call my “right-brain life.” She helped me see the need for balance, which I had neglected for too long. My professional life has been sharp, analytical, and relentlessly logical. But I was starting to sense the imbalance in myself, and Sundarii helped me name it.

Mykonos became a symbol of what I didn’t know that I didn’t know. That trip opened me up in ways I never imagined. In one week, I experienced more than I had in my entire life up to that point. It broadened my perspective on so many things—homosexuality, nudity, personal freedom, boundaries I hadn’t even realized were there. It was disorienting, exhilarating, and ultimately transformative.

Sundarii and I traveled to Germany the following summer to spend two weeks with Margarette. We drove together to Amsterdam and shared more good times. And in the end, as often happens, relationships shifted. Sundarii and Margarette remained friends while I quietly faded out of the picture. It wasn’t dramatic; it was just the way life moved.

After that period, I returned to IBM but wasn’t the same man who had left. I became an analyst. Later, I joined the Faculty Loan program, eventually becoming an executive instructor in IBM’s customer education programs. These roles offered something different—engagement, creativity, and a chance to teach and connect with people on a different level. I may not have stayed on the purely technical track, but I carved out a place to bring both sides of myself into play.

Today, my life feels balanced. I carry those lessons forward and do my best to teach my children the same—how important it is to seek balance, to honor both the analytical and the intuitive, the logical and the creative.

Now that I am retired and living on my pension benefits, I sometimes think about the technical career I left behind. If I had stayed on that path, my pension would have been larger, and my financial life might have looked different. But I’m not sure I would have enjoyed my life as much as I did had I not made the choice to seek something deeper.

I have a few regrets. But mostly, I have gratitude.

This story, I realize now, is about reinvention and embracing my humanity. I was uncertain what I would find about stepping out of the cave and into the light, but I was willing to take the risk. It was about learning to live beyond the lines I’d been taught to stay within. About balance, yes—but also about becoming who you are.