This time last year, I had just brought out my book, Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun!, I had an official launch event scheduled for October (National Diabetes Awareness Month), and I was feeling my oats. Everyday, I did something to promote my new book -- handing out flyers, attending and speaking at health fairs, talking to medical professionals, giving away book after autographed book (that I was paying for) -- and I just knew I was going to help all kinds of people suffering with diabetes. After all, there are thirty million of us and an additional five thousand new cases diagnosed every day! How could I go wrong?
As the weeks and then months went by, however, I slowly but surely realized that most folks that share my condition don't want to think about it and certainly won't pay to read about how they could (let alone need to) change how they are dealing with it -- or not. I shook my head sadly, admitting that I should have expected this disappointment, but the fact is that had I done so, I quite possibly wouldn't have written the book at all. It was a lot of work and cost me money to publish and distribute. And while I was proud of my accomplishment, I didn't have much to show for it.
I threw myself into another book and another year of teaching college and some other projects I was committed to. And I made sure I posted to this blog every week in an attempt to encourage, inspire, and form a community dialogue if I could. But this is my 49th post and I have yet to earn even one comment, though I know there are a few readers out there starting to pay attention. And believe you me, I appreciate you more than you can know.
In any case, I got invited to speak about managing diabetes at a Kiwanis club lunch on Tuesday. And despite the floods we're dealing with right now where I live, there were about thirty-five or so in attendance. The man that introduced me did such a bang-up job of it, I wasn't sure I had anything left to say, but when my talk drew to a close, I was bombarded and, almost before I knew it, I had sold ten books.
What made it so remarkable to me was that the response I got from those who bought it was exactly what I was hoping for when I wrote the book last year. They told me they were struggling with some specific aspect of their management program. Or they were arm-wrestling depression. Or they were trying to avoid going from "pre-diabetic" to "diabetic." Or they had hit a weight plateau they wanted to break through. But they were talking about it. They were admitting their concerns and reaching out for help. That's been part of my journey, too. I didn't get here by myself. And I am far, far from being a guru. I still need input often.
The point I hope I'm making is that I most definitely did not know when I went to that luncheon how it was going to go. Given the way this last year has unfolded, I could have walked away from the whole process by now. There are only so many hours in the day, after all. But people who have read the book have told me it was helpful. In fact, several have written little reviews on Amazon.com about it. So I kept on keepin' on (as we used to say back in the day). Doing the next right thing. Keeping up my commitment to the effort I had already expended, if nothing else.
I'm a grown up. I know full well that last Tuesday may be only day I ever get that kind of an energy boost with my mini-manual on managing diabetes. But as I write this today, I'm remembering the faces of those who rushed up to buy my book to read. They weren't looking for pixie dust. They were looking for hope. And aren't we all?
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