she’s got a ticket to ride, but she don’t care

ucb reflection

i need a machete. but we will get to that later.

have you ever had an experience so remarkable that you reflect immediately? the reflection sounds like poetry in your mind. right there. instant, beautiful, reflection. but then the experience is so gripping that alas, you forget. you forget that perfect jaw dropping string of words. then, you maybe get so hung up on losing the perfect, eloquent, prize winning, blue-ribbon, no-better-way-to-describe-it words that the entire experience some how feels lost. maybe you feel like you can’t begin to retell the story until that perfectly polished description magically finds it’s way back into your mind. and then sometimes it doesn’t happen at all. the words never find their way back. maybe, you wait so long for those words, that you can’t think in poetry about new experiences. extraordinary opportunities blend in with what feels mundane and become missed connections and blank blog post drafts.

i have been in this space since the friends for life conference nearly a month ago. it isn’t much like me to be at a loss for words. i’ve considered myself ‘articulate’ since i learned the adjective in 3rd grade.

i am still baffled by my inability to remember the great thoughts i had while there. all of those experiences i no longer have confidence/memory expressing, feel so distant. i keep expecting them to find their way to me like used test strips. used test strips are just lying around everywhere i go, every where i have been, and seemingly every where i will go. they find me in the grocery store, in the office, on pathways, in public restrooms, private restrooms, movie theaters, everywhere.

maybe my tendency towards this passive approach extends beyond writers block.

my passive approach is so protected by beliefs of the universe and how it works to get me where i need to be. i know i am an intuitive feeler. i take risks when i feel like i should. i listen to street sounds, watch stop lights, and predict sirens and horns honking. i do this to affirm my current location in space and time.

i’m passive when i feel like i should, i take risks when i feel some kind of external push from the ‘universe’, which generally takes the form of consecutive coincidences during normal life routine.

i do what i am doing until i get some kind of feeling to do something more or something else. if there is a driver in me somewhere, i must listen well. my body makes for a great passenger. i’m trusting.

that all sounds great, doesn’t it? listening to the universe and your inner drive? letting life guide you as you go? being open enough to allow opportunity to present itself while simultaneously having enough conviction that what you’re doing is what you are supposed to be doing to avoid tragedy or crisis?

here’s the problem with what seems great and ooh la la good time:

i’ve lost my diabetes gold like i’ve lost my perfect, eloquent, prize winning, blue-ribbon, no-better-way-to-describe-it FFL memory words.

like with writers block, i keep waiting for my diabetes numbers to just magically improve. i keep thinking that when my body’s chemistry changes, when i am outside of this period of diabetes-epic-fail-no-matter-how-hard-i-try, management will just become easier. it will just change on its own when the universe is ready for it to. great management will find its way to me like used test strips. in the grocery store, in the office, on pathways, in public restrooms, private restrooms, movie theaters, everywhere.

that kind of hands off success sounds so good and so tempting. and i’m so excited for the day it all changes.

i just can’t wait to find it!

i mean, i really can’t wait to find it.

i need to find it now.

does some one have a treasure map?

a little piece of paper with an X on it that will lead me to the diabetes gold?

and maybe a machete?

a machete would be good too, so i can start hacking away at all of the tall grass in my way of the path to the diabetes gold. slashing away all my bad habits, like eating cheetos and cookies everyday. like serial watching law and order three times a week.

it doesn’t even have to be a magic machete. just a really sharp one.

do you have one for me?

i’d really like to start playing an active role again.

i want my diabetes gold back.

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7 thoughts on “she’s got a ticket to ride, but she don’t care

  1. go see carolyn….you will no longer have to “treat” this but rather you can address options for a healthy cure.

    • Nae, i think we should talk about this. i am pretty sensitive about the words you used and would really love to spend some time with you getting on the same page.

  2. This post is gorgeous. I understand the feeling of loss over losing a turn of phrase that you knew was the only possible way to describe a moment…but I’ll tell you the truth. I mourn the loss and find that my mind has moved on for a reason and I fit the experience into a new context and see it in a new light. I find new words. And those become the right words. I think, for me, it goes back to a suggestion I remember reading from Emerson – that it’s okay to change your mind and say something different as long as it’s true to what you’re feeling in the new moment. It also makes me think of a phrase I heard a respected elderly female classical singer tell me once about forgetting the words to a song – “Oh honey, I’ve dropped so many words under the piano in my career and frankly, I just don’t have time to stop and pick them up.”

    If there’s one thing I am not, it’s passive. I assume that I have to take action for anything to happen. That if something is NOT happening, it’s because I haven’t initiated it. If my blog hasn’t been written, it’s because I haven’t needed to say it yet. If my numbers are bad, it’s because I haven’t privileged my diabetes in my priority list. Privilege is absolutely subjective. What matters in your life is mutable, changeable, re-orderable. When my numbers are bad (as they often are), I realize that it’s because I’m treating lows with food rather than glucose, I’m forgetting boluses (like I did today at lunch), or accepting higher target values. If my postmeal numbers are high, it means I’m being lax in my dose timing, lax in my carb counting, generous with my portions. It’s always my fault. Always up to me to press the reset button and start off on a fresh pathway.

    • Thank you Melissa. Your shared wisdom is more than welcomed. If I lose my turn of phrase next time I will try with all my might to be more flexible, less centered on the loss.

      I think I have always passed off my passivity as “an ability to trust” that ability has felt like a sign of strength. So I don’t think I will be able to fully let it go. Try to let it go would more likely lead to feelings of failure because it is so engrained. And it is not all bad. A lot of good comes from it too. I do ACT at the first moment I feel i should.

      Right now I am trying to find a better balance between activity and passivity. Diabetes is not something I can be passive about. I need to mentally move it out of where it is now and put it in the list of things to DO.

      Thank you for reading and sharing. You are definitely a person I look up to and know that your input will not be taken lightly.

      you’re awesome.

  3. Love your posts. I happen to be in a funk … definitely a ‘diabetes-epic-fail-no-matter-how-hard-i-try’ time in my life. So I really appreciated you nailing that phrase! And despite what most seem to believe, sometimes disappointing results are NOT for lack of trying. It’s like there’s an X factor that can’t be tracked down or figured out. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only diabetic struggling to find X. Thanks for sharing.

    • Zip. Thanks for reading. On one hand, I want to say I am glad to know there is someone out there who feels like I do, but then I am also not happy to hear it because it means you feel this way too. And it sucks, doesn’t it? There is nothing like the feeling of ‘failing’ when you also feel like you are doing everything you can to be on top of something.

      I haven’t figured out the X factor this time around yet. But i certainly can relate. Where is the missing link? I do have to say that last time i had epic burnout, my -this-makes-everything-feel-better conclusion was that there is no X factor. diabetes numbers just don’t play by the rules. even when everything is in it’s right place, the numbers go wacky.

      but each burnout is different.

      maybe this time, there is an x factor. i’m looking right now. I am always going to look for it and troubleshoot first. after i’ve consulted my endo and she has nothing left for me except “log more”, after all my little tweaks have turned to habits and if still nothing is seeming to work, then i go to the ‘sometimes nothing works and that is okay’ mindset.

      Have you experienced that?

      • Thanks for your reply … I definitely understand your sentiment of wanting someone to share all of this, but also hating that anyone has to share this! I was just thinking … the X factor is almost always there in one form or another, so I think it can be summed up by LIFE. Life is always there, throwing something unpredictable and new at us. Good thing it throws nice things at us too, huh! Like days (or hours) where everything works and we have no idea why. Thanks again and I’ll be rooting for you.

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