A Position of Transition

“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you.

Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.”

-Mark Jenkins

One of the most fundamental laws of the natural world is that nothing is static.  Everything changes, a constant state of rearranging, adapting, shifting.  Sometimes the changes are slow and subtle; the diverging of a new species of dragonfly with a novel vein pattern upon its wings.  Others are quick and harsh; an earthquake that destroys, rips, and forever separates the old landscape from the new.

And so it has been with me.

The past few months, during which I have been apologetically silent in the cacophonic world of cyberspace, have been characterized by a gradual shifts in thinking, of abruptly re-learning of who I am and who I wish to become, and how to go about getting where I want to go, metaphorically and literally.

Here is a brief summary:

Considerations of a career transition had been lurking in the back of my mind since last summer, for reasons largely outside of my control.  Naturalist-interpreter positions such as mine are not known for their permanency, and the mental weight of not knowing where an income is going to come from for half of the year had begun to take its toll.  I had made a few inquiries, sent off a few applications, bounced ideas off of friends, family, and mentors, but at the time was content with slowly letting go of what I thought my future was going to be and refocusing on something that would both make me happy AND allow me to have my very own address again.

I probably would've continued dilly-dallying around, but during a follow-up visit to my family doctor in early August it was discovered I had developed Type 1 diabetes.  Now while that seems pretty cut and dry, I can assure it is not.  I'm still a bit of a mystery to every medical professional I've met with or been referred to (four in all), because I'm not typical. 

I'll be as brief as I can: Diabetes is essentially a condition where your body is unable to process glucose (sugar) to use for energy, and this inability is linked to insulin deficiency and/or insulin resistance.  Insulin is what helps move the glucose in your bloodstream into your cells to use as an energy source.  If you don't have enough insulin, or your body isn't using it efficiently, your cells start starving and glucose starts building up in your system and wrecking havoc.  Type 1 diabetes is autoimmune, meaning somewhere in the past year or so, my body's immune system started attacking the insulin-producing beta cells in my pancreas.  Fewer beta cells means less insulin, means higher levels of blood glucose.  Eventually, your immune system wipes out the beta cells completely and you become insulin-dependent (shots, shots, shots, errybody!), usually within a matter of weeks to months.  Type 2 diabetes is more of an insulin-resistance condition, where your body is producing insulin, but maybe not enough of it or it's just not working the way it should.  Instead of the sky-rocketing glucose levels in Type 1s, you see more of a gradual rise.  At some point, Type 2s will also become insulin-dependent (another chorus of Shots!), but generally not until several decades have gone by.

So why am I a strange one?  Because I'm a Type 1 that acts like a Type 2.  I have the autoimmune response, but at 14 months since the first indication, I'm still producing my own insulin and am on what's been referred to as a "baby amount" of insulin.  I'm not going to go fully into all of the details, fascinating to me as they are, because the whole story is a blog post in and of itself.  Currently I take a few shots of insulin a day, watch the sugar and carbs, get my daily cardio in, and continue to engage in futile attempts to get Michelle Obama arms. I have highs and lows like every other diabetic, but the sugarbetes has not held me back from the things I love most, cooking, traveling, and exploring all manner of wild and not-so-wild places continue to take up most of my time and energy.

Including skiing in the nearby Sandhills State Park after a much anticipated snowstorm

The last blog post hinted at the now-pressing decisions about my career, and ultimately I decided to branch off from the duties of naturalist ranger and strike out in a new direction, that of teaching science full time in the classroom.  As I make my way through the checklist to employment, I'm filled with both excitement at a new beginning, and sadness at leaving a life I loved so dearly.  For the past few months, my days have been one big executive meeting after another between heart, head, and pancreas over what exactly it is I need, and want, to be doing.

For now, I grapple with the urge to take off running to the Driftless as I usually do, the place where time can stop and responsibilities and life decisions are few and far between; where the reliability of oaks is the source of all the steady I need.  For now, I come to grips with diabetes in fits and starts, sometimes forgetting the titanium medical alert on my wrist, and other times staring at the small dots from the small pricks of small needles on my stomach in the mirror for longer than I should.  For now, it would be a stretch to say I am content, though I have little to complain about, but no adventure was ever found by staying on the same path. 

Certainly this new road has a few more markers than I'm accustomed to, but yet when I peer into the distance I cannot see the end of it.  The possibilites are as endless as the dusty path in front of me, and as I let myself consider the potential, the smallest glimmer of hope and purpose lets itself be known.