And then, just when I thought I had it figured out, a handsome stranger in a cozy bar in Lesvos shifted my perspective…

Lesvos is a strange island. I visit my grandparents here as often as possible, so I’ve spent plenty of time wandering its streets and enduring its quirks. It’s honestly not my favorite island; the “small world” energy can be suffocating – gossip spreads faster than wildfire, everyone has an opinion about your business, and creating drama out of nothing is a treasured local sport.
But my grandparents’ house is a sanctuary. It’s where love feels constant, where I can ground myself when life spins out of control. My grandparents, the human embodiments of kindness, make this island bearable, even when everything else feels impossible.
Usually, my trips here revolve around late nights. Lesvos nightlife isn’t exactly riveting – it consists of a handful of cafes, a couple of clubs filled with teenagers, and a lot of me hoping someone remotely interesting will walk through the door and whisk me off my feet. I’d stay out until 4 am, come home to find my grandmother waiting up for me, and encounter her worrying as if I were still a child.
But this time, things were different. I’ve stopped drinking, and with it, my mind and priorities have shifted. Lesvos is now a place to rest and recharge. And this trip, I’ve fully embraced my inner old person – sleeping in, wearing a robe, playing cards, yelling at the TV, and leaning into the quiet simplicity of life with my grandparents.
Until, of course, my curiosity got the better of me.
A Wild Night in Lesvos
After days of peace, I decided I deserved a night out. This time, I chose a bar I’d never even seen before – a cozy little place tucked into a corner of the shopping center. It was intimate, with rock classics playing softly, a small bar with one open seat, and clusters of people chatting in Greek.
I ordered a soda water (sooo crazy, right?!), settled into my seat, and let the music fill the space while I tapped my fingers along. Then I saw him: tall, dark features, piercing blue eyes, and arms that could bench-press all my existential crises so far this year.
We exchanged glances, and I smiled at him. He whispered something to his friend, then approached me. “I needed to talk to you because your smile is contagious,” he said in Greek, unaware of how many times I’ve heard that line before in English (...and also Greek...and Spanish...and Italian...okay, anyway.). Thankfully, he spoke English as well, so he could deliver it twice. He also didn’t drink (this is recently a HUGE turn-on for me).
We connected instantly. I captivated him with conversation – which is apparently my weapon of choice - and we dove face-first into musings about life, love, and freedom. He was fascinated by my choices, especially my independence. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be free,” I told him. And I meant it.
But then the conversation took a turn. He criticized my writing – specifically my decision to share personal stories so openly. “It’s not good,” he said. “People will talk.”
I didn’t flinch at this very “Lesvos” point of view. “So? Let them! I write my truth because it’s real. And we learn through truth.”
He wasn’t convinced. He kept arguing, and finally, I hit him with something he wasn’t expecting.
“It sounds to me like you live your life completely limited by fear.”
He froze. I could see the realization land before he tried to deny it.
“I don’t have fear,” he said defensively.
“Then why do you care so much about what people think?”
Freedom and Kindness and Fear, OH MY!
Most people don’t pursue freedom because they’re paralyzed by fear – fear of change, fear of judgment, fear of the unknown. They convince themselves they’re stuck when, in reality, they’re the ones holding their own chains.
And maybe fear of the truth is what makes kindness so complicated. I’ve been reading The Power of Kindness by Piero Ferrucci, which explores whether honesty is inherently kind. Personally, I believe it is - because honesty is the most considerate act you could choose. If people don’t like the truth, that’s for them to deal with.
Ferrucci writes:
“To act honestly – even at the risk of saying the unpleasant truth, or of saying no and causing distress to others – if done with intelligence and tact, is the kindest thing to do, because it respects our integrity and acknowledges in others the capacity to be competent and mature.”
If someone can’t handle honesty, how can they grow? Kindness without truth is just “nice,” and we all know how I feel about that. Of course, delivery matters – the magic is in the intention and tact, allowing someone to stay open to the truth rather than becoming defensive.
The Stranger and the Truth
I could tell my honesty rattled him, but it was certainly conveyed with kindness – a mirror he wasn’t expecting to face. Still, the night unfolded in ways I didn’t anticipate.
One soda water turned into hours of conversation, which turned into making out at one of the clubs by the marina. And then, in a mix of Greek and English, he whispered dirty things that made my head spin. Let it be known: one of my weaknesses is when men talk dirty to me in other languages.
But then he admitted he couldn’t invite me to his place because he lived where he worked. So, he decided to book the closest hotel. I went along for the ride, and we spent the night together. It was passionate, chaotic, and, in hindsight, a little ridiculous.
And then, my friends, as we lay there afterward stroking each other's forearms, he dropped the bomb: “I’m going away next week – with my girlfriend.”
I froze. “Oh,” I said, the only word I could find.
“This is the first time I’ve cheated,” he added quietly.
Goddamnit, right? And I’ve been here before - so many f*cking times. If you’ve read my book, you know that I’m no stranger to meeting dudes in unhappy monogamous relationships who envy my freedom and desperately long to taste it through me. You'd think I'd be numb to it by now.
I told him I needed to get home. He kissed me, thanked me, and I left, knowing I’d never see him again.
Walking home at 5:30 am, I tried to hold on to kindness. A few years ago, I might not have cared so much. But this time, my thoughts kept circling back to his girlfriend. How utterly degrading. Some men can be such pigs.
The thing is, he hadn’t lied to me - at least not outright. But he hadn’t told me the truth until it was too late. And while I can appreciate his honesty, it didn't exactly bring me any closer to believing in romantic love. If anything, it left me with more doubts.
Okay, So WTF Does This Mean?!
Well…I don’t exactly know. As someone who values truth above all else, I’m starting to wonder if romantic love is compatible with honesty. I want it to be. But maybe most people are too afraid to be fully seen. And maybe my capacity for honesty means that I’m not cut out for romantic love. Maybe I'm “too much.” Or maybe I’ve just been unlucky.
Then, I started doubting my art. Was he right about how I shouldn’t share my stories so openly and honestly? I mean, I’m doing a cabaret in a few weeks entirely about having sex with different men around the world. And for a moment, he had me convinced that I should cancel the whole f*cking thing.
But then I remembered something else he said: “I don’t talk to many people who are so real like you.”
And that’s it, isn’t it? I’m not afraid to share the truth. Maybe that, combined with my refusal to live by anyone else’s rules, is what makes me so me. That said, I don't put my WHOLE life on display - just the bits and pieces that I think are worth sharing, moments that might resonate or teach us something. And honestly, I’d rather be the bitch telling raunchy stories on stage than the dude paying for a hotel room to cheat on his girlfriend.
So, here’s what I know: I’ll keep telling my stories. If they make people uncomfortable, they don’t have to listen. My truth isn’t for everyone, but it’s mine, and sharing it is my way of showing kindness – to myself and to others. And maybe, juuuust maybe…it might inspire someone else to be a little less afraid.
As for love? I’m still figuring it out. This situation definitely didn’t help my belief in it. But for now, I’ll lead with kindness. Romantic love might not always feel good – but kindness sure does.
…and maybe I’ll continue to avoid Lesvos nightlife for a while. Back to my life as an old person! My robe and card games are calling, and that’s where I feel most loved right now.
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