The Tatara Way

A little more than a year ago, I had left my first job to go to a competing firm. I had made great friends and for better or worse, made a place for myself there. In retrospect, it was definitely the right decision but it was still difficult to transition. I had to prove myself all over again and I had doubts whether I had the energy or will power. Inbetween jobs with much on my mind on a transpacific flight to Shanghai, I found an article in WINGSPAN magazine June 2005 about the japanese tradition of making samurai swords, from heat and pounding the steel. Each time, the artisan sets out to make the best samurai sword which involves rebuilding the furnace where the metal is heated.

So how does he feel about having to rebuild the smelter after each firing.
"That's the tatara way," he says. "Each time you start again from the beginning, determined to produce the best."
Then he returns his attention to doing just that.

I ripped out the little corner of the airplane magazine just because those few lines spoke to me at the time. On my first day at work, I pinned it up on the wall of my cube for inspiration. We work so hard in life to accomplish certain things or prove ourselves, but somehow always end up having to "start over again" in a new or difficult situation. All you can do is try for the best again.

I recently decided to leave my job - also referred to in this post as knocking down the smelter. I decided I needed to do something about my situation where my job was making it very difficult for me to find balance in my life. The question was no longer about how many hours I can work before it becomes detrimental to my health physically. I've realized that diabetes isn't just about the mechanics of blood sugar and insulin. It takes a huge amount of emotional energy and mental strength to heal and live each day. If my job is eroding my emotional and mental reserve and I don't have the stamina to endure stresses of work and diabetes, then I need to make a change.

In the beginning, I was so focused on controlling my blood sugar. I felt that this would be the panacea. I didn't really comprehend that I would be dealing with a sense of loss. I wasn't expecting to walk that long road of healing again after losing my mom. It quickly became apparent that dealing with diabetes would not easy - when tears welled up in my eyes during stressful situations my first weeks back at work; when I got emotional and defensive with the TSA as my bag was scanned, rescanned and then hand checked because I was carrying several juice boxes; when saying the words "I have diabetes" still scares me; when it's hard to talk about it extensively without my voice cracking; when I hate looks of pity because they make me cry and feel sorry for myself.

It's a simple thought: things could always be worse. It's powerful for me because it makes me focus on the parts of my life that I am thankful for. I'm grateful for the first 23 years of my life without diabetes and still having the chance to live a long healthy life. I'm grateful for a wonderful boyfriend who noticed that my 11-Sept-2006 blog had mysteriously disappeared within an hour of deleting it by mistake. I'm grateful for my genes, despite everything, because they made me who I am.