Moved to Substack

Hello!

I've moved my blog to Substack, where it's easy to subscribe to emails. And there's a nice community.

If you'd like to follow me there, I'd be so grateful: https://lisamjordan.substack.com/

Hugs, 

Lisa

When I looked in her eyes, they were blue but nobody home

This is a little story about connection.

I'm an introvert, which sometimes surprises people. Sometimes people tell me I'm wrong. 

But really, all that means is that I need alone time to recharge. When I get over-peopled, I get really crabby and stop functioning.

It doesn't mean I'm shy (although I was for decades). 

It also isn't the reason I go off on a million tangents and inappropriate things sometimes fall out of my mouth. I think those can be attributed to ADHD or some other undiagnosed neurodivergence.  

Anyway, the point I'm making is that I love community, and long before I understood that it was my nature, I've worked to build community.

People are everything to me. I honestly feel there is nothing more important than the people I love who love me.

(Yes, OK, water, food, shelter, healthcare. But for my emotional and physical well-being, I need my people.) 

The reason I'm writing this is that I'm going to leave a really broad community I've been part of for what I realize is about 17 years. 

Time is weird.

I've been blogging longer, but I've been less and less consistent with the blog. Plus FB can be so passive. Writing takes creative thought and energy.

So I've been thinking about it for a while, and it's been hard, because I don't want to lose connection.

When I started blogging—and I'm not quitting—I was single, heartbroken, and in absolute crisis.

Emotional crisis like all of the lies my family kept secret for decades about my dad's suicide attempts, all the lies we told ourselves about being fine, those were absolutely choking me. The family dysfunction, which we didn't recognize as such, had molded me into someone who couldn't sustain a healthy romantic relationship.

And all I wanted was someone to love me. I hated myself. I was convinced that I was unlovable. That nobody would ever love me.

I started blogging, and the only people who knew about it were my closest friends and some family. Back then DC had this wonderful blogger community. We read and commented on each other's blogs.

We were online weirdos with varying degrees of concealed identities who shared our weirdness with the public and we liked each other for it.

Complete strangers started reading my blog. And the ones who liked my weirdness stuck with me.

And some of my invisible friends became in-person friends. Some I've never met, but we've still been friends since before Nick and I even met.

Such is the power of online community.

Late in 2006, when one of my besties moved in with her boyfriend, who it was very clear would become her husband, and another of my besties moved away for an amazing job, I was suddenly all alone.

I wasn't actually alone, because of course we were still friends, and I had other friends. But these were my see-all-the-time-call-in-crisis besties.

This was before I'd gotten very far in therapy. I was still crying all the time. I was still wondering why the boyfriend I'd broken up with didn't love me. I was hoping he'd change his mind and we'd get back together.

But I was frantically doing all this internet dating in case. Because I was terrified of being alone.

Basically, I was fucking insane. 

So at some point that fall, edge of winter, I realized that suicide was an option. For me, I mean.

Even though I was 11 when my dad first attempted suicide, and 18 for his second attempt, I'd never considered it as a personal option. Not through crying every single day and gaining 40 pounds my freshman year of college. Not through my worst breakups. 

But one day I realized: when my parents were gone, because I wouldn't do to them what my dad had done to us, I could leave.

And this idea was such a relief.

The option was there for some future time. I could put it on the shelf, and take it out when I needed it.

I didn't ever have to be completely alone and miserable.

That was incredibly calming. 

Then here's what happened. I progressed in therapy. And I got very into the blogging community.

This combination saved me.

I mean this literally.

The following spring, my dad attempted suicide and very nearly died. 

He wasn't breathing when EMS found him. We had to sign a paper at the ER allowing them to re-intubate him, to change from the emergency intubation to one that could be long-term in the hospital. We had to acknowledge that he might die during this procedure.

And then they told us, should he survive it, he might not ever wake up. If he did, he could be brain dead. We'd just have to wait and see if he woke up.

It took hours and hours to get him into the ICU.

One of my forever besties was with us, and we left at maybe 3:00 am? I can't remember. My mom wanted to stay. We drove to my parents' house to sleep.

I couldn't sleep.

So I got online, and I shared my biggest, worst secret on my blog. I said that it defined me, but was not about me.

I think about that now, and how sad that is. 

It really did define me. My life, and my mom's, were focused on keeping my dad alive. And he kept trying to leave.

I didn't know how people would react. Suicide was even more stigmatized then. 

I just knew I wanted to let it out. To scream it from the rooftop. To find some relief from holding it.

What I got was a tremendous amount of support.

One of my dearest friends became one of my dearest friends precisely because of that post.

I didn't know I needed all that support. But my gosh, I did.

And so, between working with my therapist and pouring my heart out on my blog, I started to heal.

I firmly believe I could not have done this without my online community.

I had and still have amazing in-person friends. But it was different.

And the reason all this is bubbling up is because for the longest time, I loved FB. I reconnected with so many long-lost high school friends, Peace Corps friends, and family friends in far-flung locations. 

Out of nowhere, this site eventually became integral to our lives.

In moments of anger I say I hate people, and India gives me a look and is all, "You love SO MANY people!" She's right.

I love so many people.

But I also, in the current regime, have very high anxiety. And I have never been any good at moderation. I am all or nothing.

It's part of my charm. It's extremely frustrating. I contain multitudes.

It would be one thing if, like a friend of mine, I could log on to post things on my great community Buy Nothing group. And then log off.

Or check in on a few friends, and then be done.

But no. This is not me. If I'm in at all, I'm all in. 

And right now, I'm posting and reading about one political horror after another. And I see very few posts from friends. I mostly see ads and random posts from all kinds of groups I'm not part of.

Recently one of my friends said, "You don't have to do everything. You can do little things that still matter. And removing yourself from apps takes money away from them. And money is all that matters to them."

I thought about this. I thought about the person who paid a lot of money to be at the inauguration. The  person who removed fact-checking from this online community. Who owns so many of the apps I use.

So I'm doing this one small thing, slowly extricating myself.

And in case you're reading this and thinking I'm suggesting you do the same, I'm not. And I'm not judging.

I don't judge people I like. 

I really don't. I have lived through some of the craziest shit. I've done plenty of crazy.

Who am I to judge?

Unless I'm married to you, in which case I want you to eat more vegetables and work out. 

(I do, however, judge the shit out of people I dislike. Let me not pretend I don't.)

But friends? Absolutely no judgment. Make your own choices. I'm here for you. I'm an enabler, not an enforcer.

If you're a bestie and you tell me you're in a Goodbye Earl situation, I will not ask why. I will tell you I have an SUV and I can be there with an old blanket.

This is who I am.

Am I scared of feeling isolated? Of course I am. I love finding commonalities. I love connection.

I guess I'll see how it goes.

And that's where I am with that.

And the waves tell the firm coast: 'Everything will be fulfilled.'

When 2024 began, I said that I didn't want to tempt fate by saying that it had to be better than 2023. It could hardly be worse, right?

I think I'm not superstitious, but I kinda am.

And though I don't always succeed, my inclination is to hope for good, hope for better.

So I was hoping for a good year. 

Hope hope and more hope.

On December 30, 2023, we visited the family of a dear friend of Nick's, who lives just outside of Oxford. In Oxfordshire. (The shire of Oxford!)

I was excited to meet him. I'd heard about him for years.

His family lives in a charming, centuries-old stone house in an ancient, quaint, no-streetlights English village that used to be one massive wealthy family's estate.

Leaving his house in rainy pitch dark, I slipped on one of the large uneven paving stones and landed flat on my shin, splitting the skin in a long line.

Since Nick and I have watched so many British murder shows, the bulk of which seem to be set in and around Oxford, we joked that I was lucky to have escaped with my life.

In retrospect, I maybe should've sought medical attention, or at least gotten butterfly tape. I don't think stitches would've worked as it was directly over bone.

But instead, we got on a flight the next day and came home. Slowly, over months and months (and months), it healed.

First it swelled and turned colors and scabbed massively. It was gruesome. I sent photos to friends who were up for the gore.

I have a big scar. I don't mind scars. I've got a lot of them.

So I began 2024 on the heels of a joyful trip, but felled by some international non-Covid crud, still deep in grief, still healing from a double mastectomy and also suddenly this random murdery British village wound. 

A year ago I was emotionally and physically struggling, with low expectations, but hope.

Last night, as I was reviewing my year, I tiptoed through my memories in the form of photos, and doing so reminded me of how blessed I am. What a lucky year I had.

Genuinely.

Despite grief, despite the leg wound, which hurt to touch for about six months, despite pneumonia in the fall, which took about five weeks to recover from, and despite some months of undiagnosed depression.

It sounds rather terrible when I list all of them. I do realize this.

But so many wonderful things happened. 

And my approach to life, after having such dramatic reminders of the vicissitudes of fate, is now to take the opportunities I can.

There are things I hope to do in this life, places I hope to see, and sooner is closer to guaranteed than later.

I'm not saying we're no longer saving for college or retirement. I'm just saying, if something is accessible, I'm going to do it.

In February, Nicole, my beloved Nicole came to hang out with our kids so Nick and I could go to a fancy dinner at Lincoln College, Oxford, where we took the above photo. Attending the event was both a pleasure and an honor.

I wanted to take a whole lot of photos, but people just ate their multiple course dinner with wine pairings like this was all normal. I didn't want to be a gauche tourist.

And then Maude came to visit. Although actually, she arrived at our house a day before we did because Virgin Atlantic switched our flights to a day earlier but didn't tell us. 

Surprise! You're leaving yesterday!

I was going to include a photo of our faces, so happy to be together. But I think the photo that depicts our friendship more accurately is this one of Maude doing plow pose and me laughing and taking a photo while Wanda takes the opportunity to sniff her butt.

In the spring, the kids and I went to Puerto Rico, which was warm and tropical and so, so beautiful. And I got to reconnect with my high school friend Maria, who I hadn't seen in over 20 years.

And then summer, my favorite season! Summer was filled with truly extraordinary experiences.

Nick joined me for the 30-year reunion of my Peace Corps omnibus. I got to see people I hadn't seen since I left Ecuador. The weekend of reconnection and reminiscence filled my entire heart.

I went to Portugal for the first time, visiting dear old friends who live there. And then Kathy joined me and we headed heading north to Vigo, Spain, to walk 101 kilometers of the Camino de Santiago.

We walked for five days, and some of it was very hard, and I have many thoughts, and our Camino experience merits at least a whole post of its own.

But from that week, strongest in my memory and heart is how much we laughed. Except for using the bathroom, we spent 24/7 together. We had a lot of time and kilometers to talk. And oh my gosh, did we laugh.

Maybe not everyone would find a glass-walled in-bedroom bathroom in a beautiful historic hotel hilarious. But we sure did.

Did I used to laugh more in my day-to-day? I don't know.

Now I realize that belly laughs are treasures. When you have someone with whom you laugh that hard repeatedly, I firmly believe you never let them go.

I don't intend to, anyway.

In August Nick and I headed up to get the kids from camp in Maine, and took the opportunity of being so relatively close to Montreal to visit for a few days.

Oh my gosh, Montreal. What a beautiful city. India was sick, and my family was not in the mood to tourist a whole lot, but we really enjoyed strolling around the city, and we had great food.

We went to a John Fluevog store. What absolute pleasure.

On my birthday, I took a Pilates class taught by Annie, one of my lovely Bali friends.

And added to this was the joy of seeing my high school friend Monique, and getting to meet her lovely daughter.

Also! I learned that all of the Great Lakes connect to each other, and flow to the Atlantic via the St. Lawrence River.

I spent time on Lake Superior every childhood summer, and this blew my mind. Although I recently told this to some friends and they were like, yes, we learned this in school.

Was I taught that? Maybe I was busy seeing if I could hold my breath for a whole minute rather than paying attention. 

That was how I spent much of 7th grade history with a teacher I disliked. Never disruptive. Just quietly timing how long I could hold my breath, over and over.

But was American geography 5th grade? My geography is terrible. I only learned that Virginia borders Tennessee when we got Wanda, and Nick saw the town she was from and said, "That's almost Tennessee."

I actually said, "Virginia borders Tennessee?" This is the kind of thing that makes Nick tut in disappointment. 

Kind of like how I know nothing about our government and so I always ask Nick and he is all, "Didn't you major in Poli Sci at UNC?"

And then I have to remind him that yes, but only because I was a French major and my dad insisted that I add another "more useful" major, so I crammed a whole bunch of Poli Sci classes into my senior year but really didn't care and don't remember anything.

So just tell me again about Congress and the Supreme Court already for Pete's sake.

Anyway.

I learned so much US geography when Maude and I drove cross-country to move from DC to San Diego. We used paper maps, it was so long ago.

I seriously kept being like, wait, this state is next to this state? What's next?

We drove through West Virginia to Kentucky, and as such, I know they're next to each other and I've still never been to Tennessee. Although apparently some of it is right up against Virginia.

Anyway, now I've kind of derailed this with how little I know about where things are in the world.

My main point, I think, is that for me, just about every joy comes down to the people I'm spending time with.

I've left people out. And here is why.

At some point I just started listing names of friends and then I was like, oh my gosh, is this super neurodivergent that I'm about to make you a list of every single friend I spent time with last year? 

And next I'll tell you my top ten favorite birds!

I definitely don't want to be tedious.

So if you're reading this and I saw you and your name is not here, it's not because I don't love you. It's because it started to feel weird.

All this to say:

You know I love travel. Oh my gosh I do. And because of how I grew up, I often feel better out of the country than in. I leave and wish I could stay wherever it is I am.

(Except dinner is too late for me in Spain. But otherwise, absolutely.)

But for me, the most important thing in life is the people you love and who love you.

And lucky, lucky me, in 2024 I got to spend time with so many of them.

Here's hoping for a wonderful 2025 for all of us. 

I said this to myself in January last year, and I'm saying it again: Exercise, bathe. Eat a fucking vegetable. Feel lucky to be alive.

Hope for health, hope for peace, hope for love and joy. For each and every one of you.