My Story Continued, Thoughts on Leadership
September 2016
I had it really good.
I grew up in a stable, loving home. I was blessed to attend schools that embraced my love of learning. I found a passion in world politics and jobs to help me pursue it. And I had caring friends who welcomed my energetic, outgoing and unfiltered personality.
Then, this past December, I fell six feet off a slippery stage onto my forehead. I got up fast but remember thinking, "This is what NFL players must feel like when they're hurt but don't want coach to take them out."
Initially, I couldn’t process that my brain wasn't the same. I had constant headaches and nausea. I grew uncharacteristically irritable and withdrawn. Even more distressing, I was unable to think in complicated sentences or mentally play out multiple scenarios without triggering pain.
Losing my intellectual agency was at first incomprehensible, and later incredibly demoralizing.
For the first six months, I had a hard time respecting my disability and the healing process. Hearing mixed messages from neurologists (some advising rest, others continuing life as usual), I followed the path of least resistance. While on medical leave, I still read, dated, lifted weights and hosted presidential debate-watching parties, often through excruciating pain. I was scared to admit to myself or anyone else just how sick I was.
This strategy created a vicious cycle. Trying my best to be my usual self, the pain would only crescendo, ultimately forcing me back into dark rooms.
After the third setback, I needed a new approach. I adopted a strategy of cutting out and then slowly increasing cognitive, social, and physical exertion. I had to replace the things I loved with a set of hobbies more comfortable in a nursing home than a dance hall. I couldn’t go straight back to my former life. But if I transformed my routines—and, critically, found fulfillment and joy in them—I could trudge inch by inch towards recovery.
I knew I didn't have the willpower to break out of my cycle alone. So, I wrote to my friends about my struggles and asked for help. I also zeroed in on three new hobbies that could give me a sense of progression—drawing, cooking, and meditation—as well as a regimen of cardio, posture, and eye exercises.
I hoped that by sharing my progress week to week, I would not just motivate myself to live up to my regimen but inspire my friends to install more positive habits as well. I created an account on Habitica, an activity tracker app with an RPG overlay, and invited friends and family to my guild.
I started sending weekly emails to my friends detailing my progress. I reveled in my successes ("Just listened to two songs in a row without my head exploding!"), and I honestly admitted my failings (“Watched too much Olympics and sped up my audiobook to 2x…and just fell back to where I was a month ago”). Forcing myself to reflect each week gave me a sense of improvement I didn't know I had made and helped me realize what was and wasn't working.
The longer I kept this up, the more I realized the weekly updates weren't impacting just me but my friends as well. One by one I received incredible emails like, “Jordan I know you feel like you’ve changed so much as a person, but two things I love about you—your enthusiasm to try new things and eagerness to bring different people together—are still very much present.”
Most powerfully, one friend opened up about his suicidal thoughts, concluding his message by saying, “If you're trying, I can follow suit.”
Only after I started receiving these emails did I recognize the power of my example. Once I got past my denial, I was able to embrace transparency and harness its power. What my openness did for my friends inspired me to start this website.
By setting an example, warts and all, I was able to encourage others to live up to it. Through this recovery process, I have developed a leadership style that I will always carry with me: to live honestly and openly.
No doubt, it has been a rocky and painful year. But in this year I have learned a tremendous amount about myself and my capabilities. I’ve uncovered reserves of ingenuity, resilience, determination and empathy I frankly didn’t know were there. I am now more confident than ever in my ability to do something meaningful with my life.