I may have raved about the Disney experience of it all—the the amazing magic band, the happy cast members, and the way the resort (attempted) to make it a seamless experience from the gate to the room.
But you see, I wasn’t there for Disney World. I was there for a conference put on by children with diabetes, part of my latest project for a startup looking to empower people with chronic conditions, starting with diabetes. I led a “focus group” (I quote those words, because I don’t like the idea of a traditional focus group, but that’s a discussion for another time) with caregivers of those children. People wore shorts and t-shirts. They wore their sunglasses. Their hair was up, pulled back in a ponytail. There were nurses, middle school teachers, stay-at-home parents, banking professionals, psychologists, and more. They told stories, comfortable that their kids were under the care of other people who understood the condition. They said that they wanted their child to succeed, yes, but they believed that they needed to intervene—sometimes.
I have always talked with people who were adults. People who read books. People who wanted to find something interesting to do around them. People who wanted to find something to watch. People who wanted to make a commute better. People who wanted to customize their lunches. This experience was different.
Some people hate this space, because it’s ridiculously hard. How do you balance parenting style while not sacrificing personalization for each person? How do you consider each child’s development and maturity? How do you consider the way that a parent wants to remain in charge instead of relying on technology? It is possible, I believe.
And as I played in the pool later after a day of the conference. I watched as teenagers all who had a patch on their skin talk in the water, flirt, and throw the ball. They didn’t hide their insulin pumps or patches. The girls had their dainty bikinis. The boys were bare-chested and growled in low voices. They took over the hot tub and I could smell their hormones. In some way, they had found their own kind and it was amazing.
What intrigued me was the tribe. There’s no communities for the quiet ones. There’s no conferences for those who are naturally high-strung (hi fear emotion!) Or even further, no communities for people who do not enjoy eating green things. I wonder if the condition makes people find unbreakable bonds. I am normal, but normalcy isn’t a condition. And for so many of us, we must find our own way in life. But that probably is our privilege, the freedom from any chains holding us back.