Making room for a sea change

I recently worked on a presentation that compared the differing experience of stress for neurotypical people and for those of us with Asperger’s.  I always enjoy researching such things to see what new studies and strategies have emerged.  On this occasion, I learned about Vagal Nerve Stimulation and several other interesting approaches to reducing and managing stress.  I even used some of the techniques I learned about on my subsequent holiday, to help me manage the stress of travelling.

It wasn’t until after my return from this very relaxing break that realise I had experienced something I had never experienced before:  A truly relaxing, refreshing holiday.  I had visited the destination before, stayed in similar hotels and done similar excursions, so what was different this time?  Having ruminated on this for a week or two, I realised that my attitude towards the travel and the holiday had indeed been the factor that had changed.

I usually build up an enormous level of anxiety prior to travelling abroad – worrying about schedules, what to pack, paperwork etc.  Would there be hold ups at the airports, bad weather or turbulence?  Would the hotel be okay?  Would the weather be too hot, food awful or too expensive? Would I be disappointed?  You name it; I’d worry about it. It would take a couple of days to get over it, before beginning to worry about the journey back...

Whereas before, I had felt real pressure to enjoy the holiday; to do, and see as much as possible - this time, I had planned nothing, chosen a hotel further away from the draw of tourist attractions with nice grounds and several pools.  I had even booked the fast track options used my sunflower lanyard to see us through the airport more smoothly, and sought out the quiet areas.  I did not read on the plane – choosing instead to wear an eye-mask and listen to classical music for the duration. I did not crush my husband’s hand on take-off or scowl at unruly children. I even spoke to the cabin staff and a fellow passenger… Unheard of.

But attitude alone could not account for this success, could it?  Was pre-planning and a few breathing exercises what I had been missing all these years? I didn’t think so.  Something else had happened that had made this new attitude possible, allowing me to access and use these strategies to better effect. I took me a while, but I finally understood:  This is what can happen you when you have the capacity.  

In the presentation I had been working on, was a graph showing the increased ‘baseline’ of stress that people with Asperger’s have to contend with.  This baseline stress is much higher than that of neurotypical people, as it comprises all the additional anxiety and stress that is generated by simply managing the everyday with autism:  Sensory sensitivity, social interaction, misunderstandings, stigma, and all that additional cognitive load that comes with thinking, and experiencing differently.  We try to control our world so that we can insulate ourselves from the unexpected, but we cannot always anticipate enough to ensure this.  As a consequence, we often fly very close to the point of overwhelm.  It is as exhausting as it is difficult to maintain, and we fail sometimes, plunging into meltdown or shutdown. Imagine a nearly full glass of water, close to overflowing every time a few more drops are added. I have realised that I have more space in my glass.

Clearly, something fundamental has happened to my baseline stress level, to give me greater capacity to cope, and thereby, enjoy. Suddenly I am happier, more social, more adventurous and more productive.  So, to what do I owe this sea-change?  I am not sure, but I suspect it has something to do with my job and the people I work with:  I feel valued, and more importantly – valuable.  I have the autonomy and the validation I have always craved but never received, despite my hard work and commitment to previous roles.  My current role brings fascinating subjects to explore and challenging new skills to learn. It is important work.  My skills, strengths and experience are sought out and I am recognised for my efforts and talents. I have never worked harder, had more responsibility, or been more committed.  I should be exhausted but I am energised.  I should be overwhelmed, but I am focussed and determined. I should be failing but I am succeeding. It is a profound change, and one I will not willingly relinquish.

Happiness is a big empty pool...

 

 

Killing with kindness

 I recently decided to take a bit more control of my life.  Did I sell up and move to the coast?  No.  Did I quit my job and start writing my first novel?  No.  Did I sell most of my belongings and buy a boat?  No. (They are planned further down the line, I assure you!)

No, my first step along the road to 'including myself' was to change the day I celebrate my birthday.  My actual birthday occurs virtually on top of Christmas, and has always been more of an obligation than a celebration:  Almost guaranteed expensive prices, poor choice of cards, rejected invitations, terrible TV, cancelled bookings and dreadful weather.  I have, traditionally always done my best to ignore it and actively encourage anyone I know to do the same.  I decided to announce the change via Facebook (many of my friends and family have begun to use Facebook over the various Lockdowns, and the handy notifications they would receive when I changed the date of my birth to May 23rd (a perfect choice for weather, availability and general demeanour) they would all get reminders.  It worked very well, and I find myself looking forward to enjoying an extended Christmas celebration, unadulterated by the inevitably doomed Birthday planning.  A real win-win.  

I mention this, purely because it is a clear and unique example of doing something for myself, successfully. In my new job (nearly a year here already), I have come to an awful realisation which may throw me back into the maelstrom of seeking employment once again.  For the strangest of reasons:  Kindness.

I work in a school with a group of incredibly caring and kind people, all undoubtedly, highly empathetic.  I am an Aspie, highly logical and, although empathetic in my own way, a world away from their experience.  The job is comprises lots of admin tasks carried out in quite the most hectic and disordered environment I have ever experienced.  Together with the added pressure of constant interactions with staff, health professionals, pupils and parents, it's one of the most challenging I have ever found myself attempting.  And I am failing.

I am utterly exhausted by it every day.  I am told: 'That's the job'.  And it is.  I underestimated hugely, the amount of interaction I would have to manage when I applied for the job, (but it wasn't explicitly stated in the job description) and there was so much to learn, so quickly, it's only now, after a year, that I can reflect and realise this is not for me.  I know this must be a familiar realisation for many of us, on the spectrum.  It is always going to be a minefield; employment, that is.  Those of us on the Autistic Spectrum who are capable enough to 'pass' for 'normal' (whatever that is) fall into an impossible trap:  We enjoy little of the understanding and compassion rightfully given to on those who are in visible distress and extreme difficulty.  We have all the same disadvantages - difficulties in forming relationships, making ourselves understood and procuring the help we need to manage in our working environment.  Indeed, the less we appear to struggle, the less likely we are to attain any of these things.  Our apparent ability to cope and to manage make us vulnerable.  This seems to be particularly true of women on the spectrum, (especially late diagnosed) who have become skilled social mimics.  These skills never become intuitive, however, so the energy required to maintain them is enormous.

I find myself in a situation I never thought possible, and it is probably testament to my own skills at appearing to 'fit in' ('camouflaging' as autistic research has now coined it), together with my conviction that I would be better off in an environment with lots of kind people.  The final straw in my case is the care and concern shown to me, now that I have started to crumble.  I can take no comfort in it.  I don't know why, exactly - perhaps it is a consequence of many years of cumulative trauma from continuous misunderstandings and social rejection, (there is interesting new research on PTSD in ASD) or is it is merely another level of interaction I am unable to reciprocate, because it is genuine, heartfelt and continuous?  I want so much for them to see that their care and concern are helping me, but it isn't, and I blame myself for that. The irony of this is not lost on me, I can assure you...

Ten Years After (First published October 2019)

 (Written October 2019)

It has been a tumultuous couple of months, and not just because of Covid 19, Lockdowns and new vaccines.

I have finally been pushed to limit of of my capacity to put up with my job and my employer of 10 years.  I am very pleased with the new role I am about to begin, but there are always regrets, aren't there?  My regrets are same as always in these situations, but with a couple of added extras...  

Regardless of the reasons for moving one from jobs in the past, (redundancy, company collapse, recession, the employer's contractual irregularities, excessive, unremunerated overtime) I have always regretted that communication could not salvage the situation:  Perhaps I was unaware of some unseen hierarchy, or underestimated the significance of some relationship or aspect of the job valued by my superiors... Sometimes I have been oblivious of political changes happening within the company, and the consequent social activity of other staff, vying for position before the axe fell.  Sometimes, my inability to fit in socially was all it took for me to be 'selected for redundancy'.  To my knowledge, it has never been a result of my inability to do my job to a high enough standard.

On the few occasions I have decided to leave, it has usually been at a point far beyond where most people would have decided the situation was untenable. I am tenacious and reluctant to admit defeat, and tend to hang on in the hope that a solution presents itself.  But to decide to leave because it is right for me, is a fairly rare experience. I feel strongly that, on this occasion, I had gone above and beyond to find a solution to the endless hail of unpredictability and flawed strategies that I have had to weather for the last 3 years.  I can adapt to change, but this was too much. 

But, enough about the things I cannot change.  I mentioned some new regrets earlier, and these are oddly welcome.  It appears I have managed to make an impression in the last 3 years, with staff and students who have told me they are sad that I am leaving, and this has led to some feelings I rarely experience:  I will miss them.  I am not entirely without empathy, (I dont believe any autistic person is), but I do struggle with these feelings for two reasons:  Firstly, unless someone explicitly states that they value my efforts, I assume they do not.  This is not due to some desperate need for validation.  It is merely a consequence of Asperger's - I cannot interpolate other people's feelings about me into my own self-image when they have not been communicated explicitly.  It will never occur to me to think I have done a good job purely on the basis that no-one told me I did a bad job.  Even when I pleased with the outcome of a task I have performed, I will always have some expectation that someone, somewhere is disappointed, if I don't hear explicitly that it was satisfactory.

The difficulties with this behaviour, is that it comes as a huge surprise when people do communicate these things explicitly.  In my experience, it is something reserved for goodbyes.  I was unprepared for the response to my 'goodbye' message, from staff and students.  I was truly humbled by the number of messages of thanks I received.  I still marvel at the way I have spent the last few years oblivious to these feelings. But this is the reality of Asperger's.  It can appear oddly self-serving to illicit comment from people, just so you hear it explicitly - how would you know their response was genuine?  

This may seem a minor issue, an inconvenience, overcome by the will to believe people are being genuine: Trust.  But there lies the problem:  Trust is a difficult concept for someone like me, and when comments are made under circumstances like this, there is little opportunity to test their veracity and gain the evidence I need.  Which is, of course, the dilemma at the heart of what trust is... ignorance is not bliss.

An unwitting tourist shows off the local wildlife...

The New Normal

 Like many other educators and school workers in the UK, I returned to work in September to a workplace and a job I no longer recognise.  I have lost all context. My autism means I require structure to be able to function normally in my usual role of cover teacher.  This structure is the only way I can manage the social jungle that is the workplace.  Up until now (for the last ten years, that is) I have managed to weather the elements of educational workplaces that generally constitute anathema to autistic people (noise, constant change, lack of breaks, unexpected incidents etc.) but no longer…  I often ask myself why I chose such a job.  The answer is invariably the same:  Because I can do it, and do it well.  I should add that this would be my response, whatever the job I was doing, else I would not be doing it.

The truth is a little more complex, and will be familiar to many of you with Asperger’s…  The truth is I didn’t want to do this job.  The truth is that, in my 45 years undiagnosed, I cultivated such a deep self-loathing (due to my inability to ‘get anything right’ where relationships were concerned) I didn’t consider my own wishes when I made the decision.  Nor have I, before or since.  In a chaotic world, I would impose order, but my self-loathing would only allow me to impose order on myself, and what I was immediately responsible for.  Healthy, no? On the upside – it made for a very capable, adaptable and hardworking employee.  But such a volatile combination of drivers inevitably invites exploitation. 

In the years since my diagnosis, I have educated myself about Asperger’s and all it’s associated co-morbidities, it’s psychology and personality and physiological/neurological characteristics.  I have learned new language to help me understand the hidden aspects of the world I occupy, and I have seen truly remarkable progress in others just like me.  But I remain. Rooted in no-man’s land.  Exposed and unmoving – a target to some and an obstacle to others.

We have all struggled in some way or another during the pandemic, and I find it difficult not to see my own difficulties as ‘minor’ compared to what others have suffered.  My job description was changed without my agreement to include 1:1 support with SEN students, as well as cover (a dangerous combination that might leave vulnerable students without support).  My breaks were reduced, my work day lengthened and my previous responsibilities removed with no notice.  I had to navigate new processes and procedures around Covid19 – one-way systems, more screeching bells as classes were staggered, chemical sanitisers, open doors and windows that allow air and the noise of hundreds of frustrated secondary school pupils to circulate freely.  The list was endless, and I had no time to absorb, assimilate or process any of it.  I communicated my concerns and they were ignored.  Again and again.  But still, I stay.  Although my sanity is fast declining, my bravado is intact and tosses around terms like ‘constructive dismissal’ and ‘looking at options’, but I know I am not brave enough to stand up for myself.  Because, with all my wisdom and knowledge, I still doubt myself: ‘What if I’m wrong?’ 

There is something so incomprehensibly heavy holding me here, and the pull of my experience, knowledge and abilities, and the love and confidence of friends and family exert a wholly insignificant force in the face of its gravity. What if I call their bluff and they laugh in my face? It seems like such an inconsequential thing, but it seems I care only about what other people think.  It is the opinions of others that has shaped my existence, so convinced was I of my own inadequacy. I am the product of 50 years of trying to fit in somewhere.  The space I occupy is a lie, and spread out behind me is a shadow, intangible and inaccessible, of the life I should have led.  Maybe it’s all the stress and anxiety.  Maybe it’s my age.  Maybe it’s appalling and repeated ill-treatment of an employee with ASC.  I cannot say, because I don’t have the courage of my convictions.

My rational self of course, leaps in to rescue me at this point, but only by berating my logic.  It reminds me of how insignificant my concerns are, how small my contribution is, my impact – in the grand scheme of things.  It really doesn’t require all this drama.  Does it?

Paul Nash - No Man's Land

Lockdown Low or New Normal Nerves?

A few weeks ago, I was sure of my new routine.  I had weathered the changes from normal working to home working, home schooling etc. and I was pretty sure I knew what was expected of me.  I even had the temerity to enjoy, somewhat, the limited social interaction and communicating via typed message alone.  I allowed myself to get comfortable.  I should have seen this coming.

I suppose we have all, as a society, had opportunity and need to reflect during Lockdown.  There is much talk of 'The New Normal' - an unhelpful and misleading term.  I doubt many of us will return to exactly what we were doing before, in exactly the same way.  For some, it is seen as an opportunity to change practices that weren't working, for others - an opportunity to make dash for the greener grass on the other side.  For others still, it seems to be an opportunity to trap people into new working practices that benefit only the company and not the employee, an excuse to increase workload, cut pay, change contracts.

My work situation is changing whether it is good for me or not.  My contract will be changed to include new duties that will mean more contact time with students, less breaks and longer days.  This has been brought in without discussion or agreement and without due consideration for the 'reasonable adjustments, to which I am entitled as a person with Asperger's. I have been advised that, if I want consideration, I will have to fight.  But this is not a rant or complaint.

I am aware of my rights, but I have always struggled with the idea of entitlement.  I have spent every waking moment of my life trying to appear normal, to fit in, and give people what (I think) they expect of me. And I have been, in the most part, very good at it.  Perhaps I would have been better off, had I not been.  Like many women with Asperger's, I can, with effort, appear relatively similar to society's idea of what someone like me should be: A 50-something working mum.  (But this is a façade. This might be a familiar description, for anyone who was diagnosed later in life.)  But I know I need time in my day to 'decompress' after prolonged social interaction.  I know I need time to process and discuss changes to my working day and practices.  I know I need time to prepare for front of class lesson delivery.  So why wouldn't I contest a change that does away with all of this?

A colleague told me in confidence, that I should involve HR, play the Autistic/disabled card, and fight for what I am entitled to.  What is difficult to grasp is the effect of years of deference to change.  Change is inevitable, and it is difficult for someone like me to tell whether what I experience as needs will be considered 'reasonable' or not.  Like many people on the spectrum, I struggle to identify how I feel about things, so I have learned to accept other's people's opinions on whether things should be important.  This isn't as unworkable as you might think, as long as you surround yourself with people who value you and have your best interests at heart.  Unfortunately, it doesn't work so well when you are dealing with people who don't.

Before I was diagnosed, I was convinced that the world was filled predominantly with closed-minded, stupid , impatient people consumed with self-interest. (With a few, notable exceptions). As I became a little better acquainted with my diagnosis, and later with TA), I realised that my estimate was a bit off and that, generally, most people were okay.  In fact, I came to think that perhaps everyone had the capacity to see me for who I am, to value me (as much as other people and things) and have the capacity for flexibility or understanding and compassion.  It appears I was wrong.

I am informed enough and articulate enough to explain my situation and my needs to most, but when you find yourself having to explain and justify again and again and again to the same people, I have to consider that there is an element of 'lip service' going on.  And it grieves me to see it so rife in the field of education. I am forced to make decisions about changes based on ill-considered, harmful assumptions with little or no time for processing, discussion or reflection, time and time again.  I could fight it, explain, justify, and all those tools I have at my disposal, but there is a part of me, I think for the first time, that wants to give in.

If I am forced into a position where I have to defend my 'rights', remind them of entitlements, their responsibilities and my vulnerabilities, I suspect I will not be able to.  I have help at my fingertips: advocates willing to make my case for me, but I am unwilling to ask.   I have never, in all my working life, asked for consideration, better equipment, a larger budget, training, promotion or a pay rise.  I have always worked hard and tried to progress professionally regardless of the cost to myself or (to my shame) my family, and I continue to provide skills and expertise 'beyond my pay grade' so to speak, without remuneration or recognition.  But I cannot help but think that allowances made after an argument, however eloquent or justified, will continue to be made begrudgingly.  This, I feel, will only serve to reduce my standing even more, and increase my isolation.  I am at a loss, and would normally start looking for another job, but my age and the current climate negate this.  A quandary indeed... and one that I hope isn't shared by any of you...

The Art of Escape (Part 4 of the Trilogy)

I would hope that the title of this fourth instalment gives at least some of you a clue about the identity of my final guest. So numerous are the things I would like to talk about with him, that I don't know where to start.  So I suppose, I'll start with me.

In my mid-teens, I began to find navigating the world around me increasingly difficult.  It had expanded beyond my family and my teachers.  Friendships among my peers seemed to be far more important than schoolwork or interests, all of a sudden.  They appeared to interested only in who was friends with whom, what they were wearing and which pop band they were affiliated with.  I was as lost as I have ever been. It was around this time that I started to engage with science fiction and fantasy novels.  It had become clear that I would not be able to continue in my English courses without reading fiction, and this was horrible thought. (Like many people with Asperger's, I preferred non-fiction.)

After some experimentation (and countless trips to the library)  I found that I had no patience for those wonderful character studies and historical dramatisations of the 19th Century, and Shakespeare was only manageable if I thought about the language like a puzzle.  I found that I could access some genres better, as long as the writing was very considered, factually based or full of detailed imagery and description, (preferably all three).  Quite by accident, this led me to some of the most highly regarded literature around.

I had begun by reading everything by JRR Tolkien, and Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast Trilogy. I moved on to Homer and Virgil, where the structure and continuous blow-by-blow account of the events kept my interest.  'Whodunnits' bored me. (You cannot participate in the puzzle, as the writer only spoon-feeds you enough facts to move the story along.)  I even dabbled in horror, but could not engage with Poe or Stephen King or anything much except for Clive Barker (Weaveworld and Imajica), and they are more fantasy than anything.  Eventually, I hit upon Science Fiction.  This was a much maligned genre of literature at the time, and there was a poor range available in the library, but I read H.G Wells, Azimov, Pohl, Heinlein, Niven and Bradbury, to name a few - whatever I could get my hands on, from jumble sales, carboots and book sales.

When I read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in 1987, it had already been in circulation for 8 years.   The Radio series had come and gone, as had the TV series.  It was only my knowledge of 'The Meaning of Liff' that made me consider reading it at all.  I picked up my original copy at a library sale;  I still have it, dog-eared little paperback with it's library plastic cover and the front leaf ripped out (where the stamped dates would have been).  I'd had it for some years - I think the 'based on the famous radio show' emblazoned on the front actually put me off reading it.  But read it I did.

It is difficult to explain how much I love this book, and the other 4 in the 'trilogy'.  Where to start? The premise is genius. A guide book/encyclopaedia of the entire Galaxy.  The themes and philosophical questions are fascinating:  Scale, for example is a theme that brings up some of my favourite quotes... "Space is Big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mindbogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist's, but that's just peanuts to space".  Then there's the wonderful warning tale about loose talk and it's consequences: “the mighty ships tore across the empty wastes of space and finally dived screaming on to the first planet they came across - which happened to be the Earth - where due to a terrible miscalculation of scale the entire battle fleet was accidentally swallowed by a small dog.” and the sublime concept of the Total Perspective Vortex - a terrible torture device that destroys your mind by showing you how incredibly insignificant you are in comparison to the entirety of the universe.

The Guidebook acts as the vehicle for little tangential stories along the way:  The story of where all the 'lost' Biros go is charming, and, of course, there is the Babel Fish, Man vs God Argument.  Scattered through the books are Adams' signature leaps of logic.  His description (in the later books) of how you learn to fly by a process of 'distracting yourself from falling' at the key moment is delightful.  Similarly, he ignores all the well-known considerations inherent to immortality, and works on the premise that, were you immortal,  you might be quite bored and fed up.  You might even decide to take this frustration out on all the beings in the universe who were not immortal.  By insulting them, individually.  One by one. Even the tricky issue of time travel is no obstacle for Adams - He's  happy to step over the 'temporal paradoxes' that have perplexed scientists for decades, and which are the bread and butter of Sci-Fi programmes like Star Trek, and focus directly on the real problem:  Grammar.

Logic makes me happy, as it does many people with Asperger's.  I find it both calming and pleasing when things 'work out' as predicted, so I love the neat 'all loose ends tied up' feeling I get from Adams' 'scientific' explanations.  They are stated with infinite authority and confidence, and make such perfect sense, They are so wonderfully fitting.  The same goes for his philosophical and theological observations -  Would you prefer to eat an animal that was bred to want to be eaten and was capable of saying so, clearly?  There's Hotblack Desiato's rock star spending a year dead for tax reasons and, of course, God's final message to his creation was:  "We apologise for the inconvenience".

Adams' books take all the stuff of those serious Sci-Fi novels and has a damned good laugh with it.  He clearly had a great interest in science, in tandem with a seasoned appreciation of the frankly absurdity of the more colourful theories and applications. It was his books that encouraged me to learn about phenomena like Brownian motion and sets of infinities, and sparked my obsession with quantum physics.   When I read about the quantum theories of the 'probabilistic' Universe, I can hear Adams' voice quietly reciting the story of the The Infinite Improbability Drive, which allowed a ship to pass through every conceivable point in the universe without all that 'tedious mucking about in hyperspace'. To successfully generate the infinite improbability needed to fling a ship across the vast distances between stars, was considered a 'virtual impossibility'.  So along comes a student who reasons thus:  "if such a machine is a virtual impossibility, it must be a finite improbability. So all I’d need to do is work out exactly how improbable it is, feed that number into the finite improbability generator, give it a fresh cup of really hot tea, and turn it on!" (The cup of tea is the 'Brownian motion generator' in the scenario.)

Of course, such bizarre occurrences and coincidences as those that litter these books, demand a style of writing that can accommodate this level of 'lateral thinking'.  The delightful anti-climaxes that pop up, just when you least expect them are a constant joy:   "Forty-two," said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm.” This is the famous response to the question of Life, The Universe and Everything.  Then there is the occasion when, having been saved from certain death in the vacuum of space by an alien with two heads and three arms, Arthur Dent (our bewildered and, until recently, Earthbound hero) is introduced to the fugitive Galactic President Beeblebrox: "We've met, haven't we Zaphod Beeblebrox—or should I say... Phil?"  And my personal favourite:  "The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't."

As much as I could bore everyone stupid for hours just talking about these books, Adams also penned the Dirk Gently books.  It was whilst reading these books and the titular character's reliance on the "fundamental interconnectedness of all things", that I began to understand Adam's intense interest in the natural world.  His book "Last Chance to See" (co-written with Zoologist Mark Carwadine) is described by Adams as his favourite, and I think I know why.  It's clear they had a whale of time on these journeys to discover endangered species around the world, and Adams' humour is ever-present, but so is a clear and surprisingly heartfelt concern for their plight. “The Kakapo is a bird out of time. If you look one in its large, round, greeny-brown face, it has a look of serenely innocent incomprehension that makes you want to hug it and tell it that everything will be all right, though you know that it probably will not be."

Here is a person who loved science and nature and saw the infinite ties that connect everything together. The opportunity to meet with someone who held my interests, loves, concerns, fascination and humour as their own would be a joy indeed:  “The world is a thing of utter inordinate complexity and richness and strangeness that is absolutely awesome. I mean the idea that such complexity can arise not only out of such simplicity, but probably absolutely out of nothing, is the most fabulous extraordinary idea. And once you get some kind of inkling of how that might have happened, it’s just wonderful. And … the opportunity to spend 70 or 80 years of your life in such a universe is time well spent as far as I am concerned.”  A tragedy that he died aged just 49.

So.  There we have it.  I get the feeling there wouldn't be much eating of dinner going on, but even so - the time would be too short.  I only hope that Mr Adams' observations on lunchtimes don't extend to Dinner! Until next time, when normal service will be resumed...

"Time is an illusion - lunchtime doubly so."

The Art of Escape (Part 3)

Here we are again with the third and final part of my list of guests for my Dinner Party.  It struck me that I have not included any women as yet.  I feel oddly pressured to do so, even though, in truth, there are few women who's views, work, writings etc have made a strong impression on me.  Obviously, this should not detract from the remarkable contributions women have made, (I am not the average woman in any sense!) but I must be honest about my preferences.  I made a decision some time ago, to avoid modifying such things for appearances' sake -  I had spent my entire life doing this: trying to fit in with expectations, and I have promised myself that I will no longer do it.  I am as you find me, and I make no excuses.  Having said that...

Temple Grandin.  A remarkable woman of singular vision.  There are few people who's words so closely reflect my own experience as a person with Asperger's.  Temple Grandin's experience of the world (and her ability to articulate it in such an accessible way) has been a constant comfort to me in the years since my diagnosis.

I share her ability to visualise geometry - 'seeing' the construction lines of imagined constructions or, in my case, the geometry of the natural world - angles, proportions and 'formulas' for trees, animal physiology, geology and atmospheric effects.  Once I have 'the formula' for something, I can repeat it or modify it at will, without reference.  Temple Grandin's book 'Thinking In Pictures' is a fascinating insight into a mind that works in a very different way - her visual talents play an important role in her career as a livestock equipment designer. While designing, Grandin’s mental images aren’t limited to vague concepts. Instead, they include vivid details and an ability to see her designs from multiple perspectives.  I had never heard someone explain this process before, and it came as a surprise that someone else was using a similar process as do I.  I have tried to explain my own processes to people in the past, and been met with confusion and disbelief - how do you draw a particular species of tree from a formula?  The level of observation and detail-awareness that Grandin describes are what inform this heightened visualisation 'a VCR running in my head' as she describes it.

I have never met anyone who shares my style of visual processing and I would love to compare notes with her about managing in the neurotypical world.  I'd also love to hear what the physicists make of it!

My next guest is naval historian and writer - Patrick O'Brian.  My love of detail and craftsmanship is an important criteria in my choice of reading, and Mr O'Brian was a craftsman of the highest order.  Those who know me personally will be aware of my involvement with 'historical re-enactment'.  This is a broad description, but in general terms, just means immersing yourself in a particular period in History for the purposes of education, entertainment and anything that helps keep our history current and relevant.  It invariably involves at lot of historical knowledge, and the learning of a lot of new skills. (How to safely load and fire a matchlock musket, sew a stay, carve a wooden spoon, cast musket balls, fight with a sword etc.)  It's very physical, and I find it immense fun, especially when we get to enact a battle on a masted ship involving sword-fighting and firing of the guns. (Canon are only so-called when on land - once on board ship they are guns.)

My particular historical period of choice is the mid-18th to early 19th Century, (the most fun seemed to be had in maritime history) and I spend much of my free time at the coast, so it made sense.  It didn't take long to become immersed in the history of this time (the naval records are incredibly detailed). It was a time of huge change and upheaval - the Age of Enlightenment had set the foundation for conquest and the time was full of discovery and conflict.  Nothing brought it to life quite like Patrick O'Brian's books.

I was taken with his descriptions of the details of naval life, the ups and downs of life on board one of His Majesty's ships at the beginning of the 18th century, during times of war, and peace.  O'Brian's wonderful Master and Commander Series follows the exploits of Jack Aubrey through the ranks from Post Captain, and is woven around the fascinating relationship with his friend (ship's surgeon, naturalist and sometime spy) Stephen Maturin.  I heartily recommend it.  I am not a huge fan of fictional works - I find I struggle to engage with anything that doesn't paint a complete and detailed picture, or contain vast amounts of interesting facts (an Asperger's trait).  However, O'Brian's book transport me completely with their inter-connected stories, locations, historical setting and attention to the smallest details of historical fact.  I'm sure we would have lots to discuss!

My penultimate guest is a composer.  I found I could not bring myself to choose one or two musicians from my wide musical tastes to invite...  The list could go on forever - Trent Reznor, Annie Lennox, James Lavelle,  Vivaldi, Deon Warwick, Thomas Tallis, Abel Selaocoe, Nina Simone, Kate Bush, Johnny Greenwood, Leonard Bernstein, George Gershwin,  Rachmaninoff, Hans Zimmerman,  Chopin, Neil Peart, Maynard James Keenan...  

No - there was no way I could decide.  In choosing this guest, I have combined two of my great loves - music and film.  I have a great appreciation for film scores and the purpose they serve, and Thomas Newman is a master.  His name is not so well known as Williams or Zimmerman, but I have come to see his involvement in a film as a reliable indicator of it's quality.  You need only look at the list of the scores he has penned, including The Shawshank Redemption, Meet Joe Black, American Beauty, The Green Mile, Erin Brockovitch, Road to Perdition, The Cinderella Man, White Oleander, Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events, Finding Nemo, WALL-E, The Help, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Skyfall, Bridge of Spies, Spectre, Passengers and the recent 1917.  He has been Oscar-nominated 15 times for his scores and songs, but has never won.

I first came across his work in 2001.  He wrote the theme for an off-beat TV series about a funeral home called Six Feet Under.  I was taken with the fascinating combination of delightfully delicate music, together with intelligent, quirky writing and the use of traditional instruments. I play Appalachian  Dulcimer, and have an appreciation of character and history that is imparted by traditional instruments like this, banjos and bagpipes to name but a few. (Every episode of Six Feet Under began with the last moments of whichever 'client' the family's funeral business was dealing with.) When I looked into Newman's history, I soon discovered his scores for The Shawshank Redemption, and the sublime American Beauty.  It was no coincidence that Newman's music seemed to go hand-in-had with superb cinematography, writing and direction.  This is music that is written with huge regard for the themes, direction, performances and photography.  Many of the films are not particularly commercial, but I have come to expect much of a film with a Thomas Newman Score, and I am very rarely disappointed.

When I hear the complex rhythm of delicate percussion, unexpected tones of traditional instruments, the emotion of the minor/major switches, the drama of the layered strings it plugs directly into my emotions.  In tandem with beautiful imagery, excellent writing, direction and performances - it never fails to induce a strong emotional response.  If you're not familiar with his work - I recommend four scenes from four separate films to demonstrate what I mean:  The escape scene in the Shawshank Redemption, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fR-2fk_qusE). The scene in the rain in Road to Perdition (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGFLyA3u_rw). The plastic bag scene in American Beauty, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qssvnjj5Moo) and finally - the Shanghai fight scene in the Bond film Skyfall (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHTI9srlI2E). This latter score was a delicate balance between his own style and the rigorous requirements for the 'Bond Style', which I think he achieved beautifully.  I would very much enjoy hearing about his process and inspirations, and what it was like orchestrating Darth Vader's death scene in Return of the Jedi, under John Williams' wing back at the start of his career...

My 10th and final guest deserves a post to himself.  Until next time...

The Art of Escape (Part 2)

I hope you will forgive me if I dive right into the continuation of my imaginary dinner party - It's quite distracting, and I hope you have had a think about who would be good company for you!

My next guest is Doug Allen - the award-winning photographer and cinematographer.  You may not know his name, but you will undoubtedly know his work.  He specialises in underwater photography in polar regions, and worked on some of the groundbreaking natural history programmes produced by the BBC. He studied Marine Biology at Stirling University before becoming a commercial diver. In the 70s, he joined the British Antarctic Survey and began a love affair with the polar regions that still endures.  He began making films for TV in the late  80s, working on 'Survival' and  then on The Blue Planet, Planet Earth, Life, Human Planet, Frozen Planet, Expedition Iceberg, Ocean Giants, Forces of Nature and many others. He's filmed many 'screen firsts' including orcas attacking grey whales off California, polar bears trying to capture belugas in a frozen hole in Arctic Canada, and killer whales washing seals off ice floes in Antarctica.

As a scuba diver based in  Bristol, the home of the BBC's Natural History Unit, I have had the great fortune to meet a number of the people involved in making these films, so Doug in some ways, serves as representative for all of them. I have tremendous respect for the cameramen and women, scientists, presenters, technicians, editors, directors and producers involved in making these incredible and world-renowned documentaries, but Doug stands out because of his fearlessness.

Like many older divers, Doug has a very calm and matter-of-fact way about him, even when talking about potentially life-threatening situations.  Consider how potentially dangerous diving can be: Add to that the challenging environmental conditions in the polar regions, and then throw in hungry polar bears, inquisitive orcas and curious walruses, and a calm disposition is critical.  It is his knowledge of the natural world and his experience that informs his fearlessness - not bravado.  I will never forget chatting with him about the time he was filming walruses when one popped up right in front of him and gabbed his head in it's huge flippers ( a fully grown male walrus can be up to 12 feet long and weigh over a tonne and a half.)  He proceeded to calmly explain to me that walruses feed on shellfish by sucking them out of their shells, and that, if he decided to, he could probably have sucked his brain out through his nose. (Maybe not one for the dinner table!)

My next guest is artist and Turner Prize winner Grayson Perry.  Anyone who knows me well will be aware of my confused and confusing relationship with art.  I know little about the art world, especially the contemporary one - it is utterly baffling to me.  I do paint and draw, but my images are photographic representations or geometric ramblings - pleasant to look at - but they express little, I suspect, beyond my cognitive visual style.  This has always frustrated me, and my frustration has, in the past, found a target in the contemporary art world. (Many of it's luminaries 'walked the walk' but didn't bother to 'talk the talk', presumably because they would be found to have nothing of consequence to say).  When I watched coverage of 'The Turner Prize' - I disliked most nominees because of their unwillingness or inability to explain their work satisfactorily to make it more accessible to people.  ('Installations' like Tracy Emin's Unmade Bed still leave me cold.)  Without this explanation, it was lost on me. I cannot guess at the meaning of most contemporary artwork by just looking at it - it's much like looking at someone and trying to guess what they are thinking - impossible for someone with Asperger's...

Grayson Perry won the Prize in 2003, and changed my view of the art world overnight.  He was proof that artists could still deliver meaningful, affecting work that was still accessible to all.  As can be seen by his ceramics, sculptures and tapestries/embroideries, he is also an extremely talented craftsman. What a hero!

Since then, Mr Perry has proved to be a true cultural icon. Genuinely interested in the  "prejudices, fashions and foibles" of UK society, he produced the only TV programme worth watching about the entire Brexit debacle, and his current 'Art Club' programme has been a delight.  Anyone with Asperger's appreciates plain-speaking, and Grayson's ability to put art back where it belongs - in the hands of people everywhere, from all ages and backgrounds is a joy to watch.  I love the dichotomy of his hugely colourful character and his down-to-earth inspirations, and no imaginary dinner party of mine would be complete without him. (A spectacular dress is always a plus, Grayson but the dress code is informal - I don't imagine I could get many of my guests to be comfortable otherwise!)

My next guest (and the last for this part) is the physicist Richard Feynman.  (1918-1988) Yes I know I said they wouldn't all be physicists, but I simply cannot leave him off the list.  I first heard about Richard Feynman in my early 30s when I was looking into the famous 'double slit' experiment. (This is the experiment that is a cornerstone of quantum mechanics that showed how electrons behave as both a particle and a wave.)  This is when my obsession with physics really got started.  Feynman was a colourful character, as well as being a groundbreaking theoretical physicist.  He did not let anything get in the way of his curiosity, or his passion to prove his point!  His tales of working on the Manhattan Project in Los Alamos, for instance -  his tendency to demonstrate a lack of security by picking locks on everyone's filing cabinets - and his time in Brazil, affecting enormous change to the way physics is taught (and playing bongos) are highly entertaining.  I won't go into his work in theoretical physics - anyone who would be interested in it would surely already know it in detail, but suffice it to say that the Nobel Prize winner's tremendous contribution to science is without question.

Unusually for people in his field, Feynman was happy to embrace the medium of TV, so there is plenty of material around to get a sense of the man, his humour and his thought processes.  He was a great teacher, (his series of lectures on Physics, delivered in the early 60s at Caltech, are legendary and referred to in physics circles as 'The Great Explainer' - they remain required reading for anyone choosing to study physics) and a dogged investigator (he was involved in the Rogers Commission that investigated the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster before his death in 1988. A curious character with a great mind.  He'd bring with a wealth of experiences and stories and would probably fix my toaster too.

Until next time, when you will meet my final set of guests.

    

The Art of Escape (Part 1)

I am not prone to daydreaming, as a  rule.  However, I recently found myself  doing exactly that at times during this Lock-down. I somehow dredged up the old classic of who my ideal dinner guests would be, if I could choose 10 people (living or dead, real or fictional). I don't know if anyone even does this kind of daydreaming any more - choosing dinner guests seems terribly quaint and old fashioned these days, but it's a setting that seems to demand a certain civility that is sadly lacking in today's society.

Anyway, on to the fun bit... (Please feel free to make up your own list as you follow mine - it's imaginary, so they can be living or dead, real or fictional. You choose.)

Any friends of mine will be in no way surprised at my first choice of guest:  Prof. Jameel Sadik "Jim" Al Khalili, OBE FRS. He is a quantum physicist, author and broadcaster. Professor of Physics and Head of Public Engagement in Science at the University of Surrey in Guildford. He is a regular science presenter on BBC TV and radio and a recipient of the Royal Society Michael Faraday medal, the Institute of Physics Kelvin Medal and the very first Stephen Hawking Medal. He is the current president of the British Science Association.  An impressive list, no?

It is Mr Al Khalili's quietly compelling style of writing and presenting that enchants me.  I have read many books on the sciences and watched many documentaries, but none delight me as much as Jim's with their gentle, emphatic narratives and inspiring visuals of ground-breaking experiments.  I particularly admire his respect for his cultural home's contribution to science and mathematics, and found his 'Science and Islam' documentary fascinating.  His respect for other scientists' contributions is also clear, particularly in his radio series 'The Life Scientific'.

I know no-one better at packaging up the utter nonsense of quantum physics in easy to read books.  His explanation of the role of quantum entanglement and antioxidants in the robin's mysterious navigation systems is entirely accessible to an enthusiastic amateur like myself.  I'm sure scientists and researchers provide considerable chunks of the books and documentaries, but his particular style of weaving stories and facts around ground-breaking developments in science taps directly into my love of science.  I bet he has some good stories, too!

Stop creeping away - I haven't chosen 10 physicists for my dinner party, and Einstein is not invited!

The second name on my list is Simon Reeves, the travel presenter.  Mr Reeves is not an academic.  I read recently an excerpt from his biography describing the aimlessness of his early life and career.  What is so endearing about him is his wonderful sincerity and acceptance of people from all walks of life, wherever he finds them and whatever their circumstances.  I struggle to understand how someone of such clear principles can remain so fair and objective in their summary of a place and it's people.  But his curiosity and his sincerity are clear.  This is not a man who uses clever language to camouflage his feelings as he interviews a Somali pirate at the door of his prison.  He is genuinely open and willing to hear their stories, their experiences and their reasons. (The universally reviled pirates turn out to be displaced fishermen, desperate to make a living in a war zone.)

In his programmes, he often chooses geometric or ocean borders as routes which means an arbitrary assortment of destinations. (Tropic of Cancer, Tropic of Capricorn, Indian Ocean, Mediterranean etc.) This ensures that we don't fall into that comfortable pattern of similar destinations and similar, familiar stories. The encounters and contrasts this throws up are always interesting and sometimes staggering.  In Mediterranean, he looks at the economic, cultural, social, political, religious and environmental issues of the countries bordering the Med. He speaks to businessmen, politicians, farmers, asylum seekers, monks and criminals.  As each encounter ends, you are left with the feeling that the views of those people are completely understandable, even if you disagree completely with what they are doing.

I think his visit to a rubbish dump in the idyllic Maldives, after exploring the well-known vistas of turquoise seas and white sand coral atolls, was one of the most affecting scenes I have seen in a travel programme.  The overflowing, burning pile of waste that sat in the middle of that astounding beauty was shocking.  Conversely - there is the wonderful woman in Gaza who had returned home, after studying engineering in Britain, to use her expertise and innovations to turn rubble from the ruins into bricks for home-builders, (the embargo on building materials imposed by Israel meant that homelessness was rife.)

His slightly 'goofy' delivery and disarming way with people belie, I think, a deeply concerned and humane soul.  Would that I could connect with people in such a way!  So, Mr Reeve will be coming along.  And stories?  Definitely!

I can see this dinner party becoming serialised!  I think I'll make this the last one for now.

My next choice would be the inimitable John Lloyd.  I first heard of Mr Lloyd in tandem with his great friend, Douglas Adams - he worked on the radio series of 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'.  Now, I feel it only fair to explain that, although many of my interests can appear very serious and dry subjects to the uninitiated, I have always had a sense of humour, and a sharp one at that.  And it seems that Mr Lloyd has been lurking in all the places that I have found my brand of humour over the years.  I say lurking, as he is a writer and producer so his face is rarely seen, however, the impression of his wit and humour are evident wherever he has had involvement.

He has either written or produced on most of the TV comedy series I have loved over the years - Hitchhiker's, Not the Nine o'clock News, Blackadder, Splitting Image and QI, (which is the only thing I find worth watching on terrestrial TV these days!)  His books, (not to mention all the QI Fact books) include two of my favourites (co-written with Douglas Adams):  "The Meaning of Liff", and "The Deeper Meaning of Liff".  These two tiny volumes are easy to miss on the bookshop shelves, but they are priceless.  Born out of a long friendship with Adams, and a holiday in Corfu, what had begun years before, as a word game suggested by Adam's English teacher, became one of the most lastingly funny things I have ever read.  I can almost imagine the drunken deliberations in the taverna by the beach.

The Meaning of Liff was described as a “dictionary of things that there should be words for, but aren’t”. The definitions describe things familiar to everyone; the words themselves are all place names. For example, an Ely is “the first, tiniest inkling that something, somewhere has gone terribly wrong”; Kettering is “the marks left on your bottom and thighs after sitting sunbathing on a wickerwork chair”; and Scrabster (a village in Caithness) is “one of those dogs that has it off on your leg during tea”.

I was 15 in 1983.  In the preceding year, I had gone from being an artistically and academically gifted student who never received less than an A, to a truanting, academically failing, desperately confused wreck.  I had no friends in school or outside.  My parents thought perhaps I was on drugs, and didn't try to hide their disappointment (how dare their talented child not live up to their expectations).  In fact, I was just another teenager with undiagnosed Asperger's, trying to survive a hostile and changing world that was more bewildering by the day.  The Meaning of Liff was one of the things that got me through that time.  It tucked easily into my pocket and would take it everywhere, secretly guffawing into my jacket whenever I turned a page.

Yes, Mr Lloyd is an important addition to my list of guests. You'll have to tune in next time to see if the late Mr Adams will be joining him!

  

The Silver Lining

It is most peculiar to see the vast majority of the population of the UK and elsewhere struggling with the task of social isolation. From the perspective of an Aspie, this all seems fairly commonplace:  Avoid large groups; keep your distance, avoid unnecessary journeys... However, it is fast becoming clear just how difficult this is for the majority of NTs.

With the 'Lockdown' in place, there are more and more examples every day of people failing to manage their own isolation and their distancing from others.  How can one expect a loving son or daughter to stay away from a seriously ill parent, a brother from a sister, a teenager from his friends?
I have always looked upon these connections with jealous eyes, but now I find myself strangely thankful that I do not feel the pain of their loss so keenly.  It's hard to quantify the value of something you rarely experience.

As I watch the news reports that are filled with a bizarre combination of human suffering, dry Government statements and overtly up-beat stories of people attempting to help out in their own way, I recognise the same characteristic hit or miss strategies that litter my own attempts at social connection. These are people attempting to connect with (so to speak) their hands tied behind their backs.  The Government and Health organisations are rightly concerned about the effect on peoples' mental health:  Anxiety is high, and not just because of fears about becoming ill, buying food and getting paid.  People have been cut off from their support networks, their friends, their families.

Oddly enough, I find my anxiety is less every day.  I was very confused and anxious when this emergency began:  People not behaving as expected is a particular issue for me, so the absence of logic demonstrated in panic buying, pushing in queues and the failure to follow social distancing rules was particularly affecting.  Now I am working from home and I have a better idea of what the next few weeks look like, my anxiety is dropping.  There is no need for social interaction beyond my own home.  I am forced to communicate using my preferred methods - email and texts, and I am in control of who I choose to interact with, and when.  I seldom experience these luxuries in my usual day.

It appears I also have the advantage when it comes to finding things with which to occupy myself.  I need structure.  In everything, all of the time.  I have grown used to creating structure where there is none, and this skill has been at the core of all the jobs and roles I have ever undertaken.  Therefore, I have had no concerns about moving to a home-working system, and arranging home-schooling for my son.  I have an endless supply of ideas to occupy my time usefully, demonstrated by my long list of hobbies and pastimes.  Keeping busy is important to me, and I am rarely stuck for something to do.  I have enjoyed tackling the challenges presented by having 3 IT-heavy consumers working under the same roof.  We each have our space and we each have our schedule.  We meet in the middle for meals and fresh air, and it's going swimmingly.  I can appreciate, however, how difficult this has been for others, especially for those with less experience with IT.

There has been much made of the wonderful work of NHS employees and the armed services and their response to this emergency, and rightly so.  I must pause here, however and acknowledge what a different experience this would be for everyone, if we did not have the access to technology that we we enjoy in this country.  It seems that, as soon as a high-street business closes it's doors, a YouTube Channel opens.  As soon as a relative is isolated, a Skype call is activated.  As soon as a school closes, online lessons begin.  Without the expertise of programmers, developers and IT staff everywhere, these connections would be impossible.  The speed with which they can be called into action and the ease with which they can be accessed and used is miraculous.  When I think about the number of Aspies I know who work in these roles, I feel very proud.  Where would we be without them?

NT or Aspie, I hope you weather the coming weeks with the minimum of anxiety, and hope you can stay safe and well.  There is always a silver lining.

A solar eclipse showing the corona.  A silver lining indeed.

When the Driving Force meets the Energy Crisis

Of all the differences I could list between the experiential worlds of  people with Asperger's and those without, the most important one, I think, has to do with energy.

By energy, I mean the whole gamut of subjects which begin with expenditure and end with refuelling. (Or stopping...)  The energy draw required for everyday life (in an Aspie's existence) is enormous.  When your understanding of the world is arrived at through cognitive means, energy becomes an important consideration.  To try to describe this in terms that can be appreciated by an NT is not difficult: Just imagine thinking about everything you do, down to the smallest decision.  Every decision preceded by conscious thought, deliberation and then followed by a in-depth analysis of of the results...  Exhausting, no?  And how do you 'refuel'?  Think about the way people talk about re-charging their batteries... Relaxing with friends, going out for a drink to a nice bar, having a massage for instance. For many Aspies, 'recharging' can only happen in the absence of people and noise and touch, so finding opportunities can be difficult.   But this is not the main issue...

The problem arises when you consider that NTs can have tremendous difficulty in grasping the level of energy required by an Aspie for normal functioning in a social world, and the scale of its impact on the person doing it.  (Aspies can have similar trouble grasping that much of the slow, careful decision making they rely on every day, is done intuitively and without much conscious thought by NTs.)  Without this appreciation of the facts, our struggle is invisible at best; misinterpreted at worst.  Add to this the unpredictability of the social world and I would hope most would start to see just how 'different' and difficult our experience is.

So why aren't we all burnt-out husks by the age of twenty?

Since my diagnosis (when I was 43) I have met and got to know a number of people on the spectrum, and I quickly became aware that many of those people (myself included) have enormous capacity, drive and motivation.  This did not appear to change, even when if the person had withdrawn; unable to engage with the world: Their passions and interests were pursued with the same enthusiasm and energy - just from within their bedrooms.  We keep going, and as a result, we are capable of amazing feats of concentration and perseverance.  In TA, we might call this the 'Try Harder'  driver.  (When someone has been told that they are at fault for the majority of their life, the response is often to try harder, out of guilt, to gain acceptance or prove others wrong...) A few of my closer friends admit this ultimately self-destructive dynamic, but to expend energy on drive and enthusiasm when so much is taken up with merely navigating the everyday is unsustainable.  Something must, and usually does, give.

It is unfortunate then, that another 'driver' often accompanies that of 'Try Harder', and that's 'Don't Fail'.  People who find themselves in this dynamic simply can't win, often spiraling into crisis after crisis.  Of course this isn't limited to Aspies, however, our capacity and drive works against us - helping us reach new depths of despair.  It can be very difficult indeed to extricate ourselves from these defensive strategies when we live in such a chaotic social world where it can seem impossible to make sense of anything with all the contradictions:  "Do this accurately, but don't spend too long", "Tell the truth/Don't be rude"), "This is the priority/This is the priority/You should know the priority", "collaborate with colleagues/compete with colleagues", "Socialise/have fun".  So where should we expend our precious energy?  All too often, the answer is: 'on surviving', and even the most intelligent of us can, on occasion, convince ourselves that the effort isn't worth the reward.

Too few teachers and employers are aware of this, and the lack of understanding leads to more unnecessary pressure being piled on top.  As an educator, I do understand the frustration:  "Why, when this student is so capable, are they making so little effort?" The answer, of course, is that they are making a huge effort, simply to get through the day. If they have little energy left then, to decipher vague and contradictory expectations, we should not be surprised.  Few understand that it is even more frustrating for the student (who knows their own potential) having constant obstacles placed in their path.  It is in no way an even playing field.

It would be particularly cruel then, if we were to not only fail to understand these difficulties, but also to criticise those with great, and recognised potential, for failing to 'excel'.  Sadly, this is the overwhelming experience of many of the people I have met over the years, who identify as Aspies (myself included). Such intelligence, capacity and drive is essential in our fast moving technological world, and they should be accommodated and valued for the assets they are.  These people are the real movers and shakers, not the 'celebrities', the 'politicians' and 'corporate sharks'.  It is society's obsession with these things that has us swimming in a sea of plastic, teetering on the brink of climate catastrophe and making nationally important decisions based on nothing more than the mindless rhetoric of social media.

Time to listen to reason, I think.

Climate change protesters state the seemingly obvious...to the seemingly oblivious

Sense and Sensitivity

I feel better.  A short statement, but one of particular gravity, considering the appalling, medical, roller-coaster ride I have been treated to for the last two years.  (Beginning with the sudden and catastrophic onset of chronic migraine, followed by a complete inability to sleep without chemical intervention, and a whole raft of other neurological issues.)  Yesterday, I finally relinquished my huge collection of half-finished prescription medicines amassed during 30 months of 'trial and error' strategies designed to treat my unusual symptoms.

So what has brought about this miraculous change?  What class of physician was able to identify and treat such severe and lasting symptoms, and how did they discover the cause?

Well, in actual fact, it was me.  As Aspies are wont to do, I researched; but 'Looking it up on the NHS site' or 'Googling it' doesn't quite cover it.  I had made the connection with my age, early in proceedings, concluding that this was likely something to do with hormonal changes (plenty  of evidence exists regarding how migraines become more frequent in women during and after menopause).  This was never pursued by my GP or neurologist, however.  They seemed much more concerned with the next migraine killing prescription or offering me counselling due to the effect of sleep deprivation.

Eventually, after reading countless papers on the subject of the role of oestrogen in the nervous system, and the effects of menopause, it became clear that Hormone replacement treatment might be a solution.  I broached the subject with my GP, who immediately agreed.  I was somewhat put out by this.  After all, if this was a likely candidate, why hadn't it been offered two years ago?  Anyway - long story - short...  Here I am, 8 weeks in, migraine free and sleeping like a baby again.  One could become quite bitter as to the reasons why this solution was not offered by medical practitioners, but that would be a waste of time.  It did, however, get me thinking about why I had had such a rough time of it if my symptoms were 'merely' menopausal.

When we discuss Autism, we talk a great deal about 'sensory sensitivity'.  It is well known that people on the spectrum can experience sensory inputs (sound, sight, touch, smell, taste) in a hypersensitive  way.  (Some can be hyposensitive, but hypersensitivity is more associated with autism for it's ability to cause an overwhelming sensory impact.)  Sensitivities vary enormously from individual to individual, and the mechanics of it are poorly understood, but more evidence of what these sensory differences are is mounting up every year.

Although I would class myself as 'sensitive to noise' and smells, and have trouble processing fast moving images (driving on the motorway has been an issue for years, especially as a passenger), I would not say that I am particularly 'hypersensitive' in the usual sense.  I have always, however, been hypersensitive to chemicals (everything from detergents and perfumes to medicines).  I avoid medicines unless they are absolutely necessary, and will almost always suffer side effects - some quite severe.  I did wonder, for some time, whether this might be psychological, so I experimented to see if this was the case. (I avoided reading the listed side effects prior to taking them - only checking them against a list of symptoms I experienced later.)  I also noticed that I only required the minimum dosage before feeling the effects of any drug.  Needless to say - I have had a lot of practice in the last few years.

Perhaps it is this hypersensitivity that has led to my catastrophic reaction to a drop in oestrogen levels.  (Oestrogen is crucial for the healthy functioning of nerves and plays an important part in regulating serotonin for healthy sleep, which is why menopausal women can suffer sleep disturbances.) Perhaps my hypersensitivity was responsible of the sudden and chronic inability to sleep, the migraines and the shock-like disturbances through the night.  Not your average night sweats and hot flushes; so I suppose my GP and neurologist could be forgiven for not considering that this might be hormonal.  (If it was indeed an oversight, and not a reluctance to offer this as a possible cause.) Perhaps I will never know whether my sensory sensitivity and sensory processing have had any part in this, but there is some interesting work being done to demystify the subject.  Have fun reading about it!


References:
Sensory Processing in Autism: A Review of Neurophysiologic Findings
Elysa Jill Marco, Leighton Barett Nicholas Hinkley, Susanna Shan Hill, and Srikantan Subramanian Nagarajan   
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3086654/

Sensory perception in autism

Caroline E. Robertson1,2,3* and Simon Baron-Cohen4 
http://docs.autismresearchcentre.com/papers/2017_Robertson_Sensory-perception-in-autism.pdf

Autism As a Disorder of High Intelligence

Bernard J. Crespi*  
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4927579/

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A congruity of Aspies

I write today, after one of our 'Sunday Group'  meetings.  This comprises some Directors of The Different Engine CIC, some counselors and psychotherapists trained in transactional analysis.  A 50-50 mix of Aspies and neurotypicals.  We don't have an agenda, as such, but they always generate interesting discussion.  It is a safe place, and somewhere I feel I can indulge my vocabulary without rebuke.  I like words.  I find there is something remarkably pleasing about putting different words together in a certain order, for particular effect.  The complexity of the English language encourages flexibility and creativity, and I appreciate any tool that allows me the luxury of such fine tuning.  I consider what I write very carefully - something I wish I had the luxury to do in everyday conversation, but long pauses in conversation are frowned upon, I find, which is why our occasional get-togethers are so pleasing.  A good vocabulary seems to be a characteristic of many Aspies, and when we have occasion to use ours, we go above and beyond.  Indeed,  during this meeting, someone (an NT) made a comment on having a collective noun for Aspies, and we all rose to the challenge, quickly coming to agreement on "A congruence of Aspies".

Word games aside, there is an important point to be made here.  As a person with Asperger's, I live in what is essentially a chaotic social world.  This is a world where 'yes' doesn't always mean yes, 'maybe' doesn't always means that there is a possibility, and questions aren't always a request for factual information.  The Aspie sees incongruity everywhere; discordance, dissonance, incompatibility, inconsistency, disparity, discrepancy.  We crave harmony, compatibility, consistency, conformity, balance, consonance, but this is hard to come by.  I suppose this is why so many of us end up working in the sciences, engineering or computing - fields where an appreciation of congruity is valued.

Part of our discussions touched upon modifying our training workshops to accommodate those who work in education with their limited resources, finances and time.  It had become clear during our last short workshop, that teaching people with very limited time that they needed to slow down, (if they were to give their students the support they needed) was, to their ears, rather unhelpful.  Teachers and Teaching assistants, Learning Support Assistants and Higher Level Teaching Assistants are given training in all aspects of their job throughout their employment, and the delivery method is generally the same, providing them with a 'checklist' or 'tool-kit' to take with them to the classroom. It occurred to me that we were doing the opposite.  We were asking them to throw away their tool-kits and checklists, highlighting a huge and complex issue and merely hinting at a solution.  We were, in their eyes, suggesting incongruity where they saw none (despite a lack of success with the tools they were using).  I was reminded that these roles often attract the more empathetic of us, and that NTs employ cognitive bias without conscious thought much of the time.  This can mean that changing these habits is extremely difficult.

I remain convinced, however, that a fundamental change in approach is needed if we are to achieve rapport with our Aspie students.  How can we meet their needs if we don't understand the reason for their anxiety?  How can we communicate if we don't share a language?  How can we possibly understand if we do not fully appreciate the scale of the challenges faced by these students?  How can we empathise when we do not accept their different experience?

The final and perhaps most formidable obstacle to overcome is the perception that time can only be spent on those students who have been identified as requiring help (those who have received a formal diagnosis).  The obvious issue here is the process of diagnosis itself:  The process is quite long and can be distressing.  People can score very high on the AQ scale, but compensate by trying to not appear different.  They can be disappointed and distressed when they are told they do not qualify for the medical diagnosis - they are functioning too well.  I don't doubt that there is a significant number of students with undiagnosed Asperger's in any educational setting. They might even have been misdiagnosed with depression or pathological demand avoidance... There is no easy fix for this.  It takes time and commitment if we are to effect positive change for these vulnerable students.  There may be a solution in the application of transactional analysis (TA) itself.

Although TA (including our 'tweaked' Aspie version) has proven to be a powerful communication tool for Aspies, it is a similarly powerful communication tool for NTs.  In fact, all the changes we would prescribe for educators working with Aspie students would be beneficial for all, students and staff.  After all... any organisation can only be strengthened by incorporating greater diversity, and wouldn't we all benefit from a little congruity?

"As the new generation of bootstrappers explores this abstract theory space, they seem to be verifying the vision that Chew, now 92 and long retired, laid out half a century ago — but they’re doing it in an unexpected way. Their findings indicate that the set of all quantum field theories forms a unique mathematical structure, one that does indeed pull itself up by its own bootstraps, which means it can be understood on its own terms." (Geoffrey Chew's Bootstrap theory on quantum geometry.)

Mourning the loss of "Why"

First, I must make my apology for being silent for an extended period.  Suffice it to say, it was unavoidable and I will do not wish to bore you with the details.  I will say that recent events have left me in reflective mood; hence the subject matter today....

I have been tasked to support literacy in a class where many of the students speak English as a second language.  After the first lesson, I realised that grammar and spelling were not the issue.  The difficulty arose on interpreting the wording of the essay questions.  Students would wax lyrical about a subject without getting to the real meaning of the task.  It struck me that this is a difficulty I, and many autistic people share.

I spoke at length with their teacher about strategies for helping them with the questions which involved stating their understanding of psychologically-influenced decisions, and the discussion inevitably led to talk of our experiences of perspectives and misunderstandings.  My colleague mentioned a funeral he had attended many years before;  that of a male colleague who had died in an accident.  He mentioned the reaction of the man's autistic teenage son who, mid-ceremony, had turned to his grieving mother and asked if they could 'get a dog now'.

Now, I have a particular difficulty with emotionally charged situations, especially those as heavily shrouded in social rules and ritual as funerals...  I remember the funeral of my own father, when I was 17, and the huge anxiety I felt.  Interestingly, the anxiety was caused not by 'grief', but by the fear of not knowing how to 'act' at such an occasion.  The vignettes of outpourings of grief exhibited by the the other people at the funeral were at once fascinating and bewildering to me.  I did not cry, and although I was sad about the loss of my parent, I don't remember 'feeling' any different than usual. (I have strong emotions, but most of the time I struggle to connect them to particular experiences.) It did not affect me acutely, in the way it clearly affected others in my family. But I certainly felt shame. I could not conceive of trying to 'act' a certain way for fear of being 'found out'. I even spoke with friends at college and asked about grief, what it felt like, how it should be shown and how long it should last etc.  I waited for the feelings of grief (as described by my fellow students) to begin.  They never did.  What did affect me, was the clear concern and judgement on the faces of those who realised I was not reacting in the usual way.  I don't doubt the boy my colleague spoke of noticed peoples' shock and even disgust at his words.  I cannot bring myself to attend family funerals, to this day, for this very reason.

I thought about the boy my colleague mentioned and, after many years of avoiding the subject, I realised a sad truth.  It is not that I did not experience grief - it is just that grief is a constant. In one of our many TA workshops, we talked about 'the loss of "Why"  I must confess, the significance of this eluded me for some time, but I think I understand it now, and it is dangerous territory.

So, the "Why" refers to the process of making sense of the world around us.  It is about the journey we take through our experiences and the lessons we learn from them.  It is how we acquire the answers that allow us to grow in confidence and navigate the chaos that is life, and in the answers, we take comfort.

I crave answers.  Like many people with Asperger's, I am fanatical about researching, learning and sharing information, but there are vast tracts of my world that will always be closed to me:

I grieve for the things I have lost and the things I will never have.  Every day.  I grieve for the unspoken moments I have missed, the expectations I have not lived up to, the experiences I couldn't communicate, the joys that I couldn't share, the opportunities I never saw, the disappointments I have suffered.  I grieve for the friends I will never make, the belonging I will never experience, the camaraderie that cushions, the intimacy that soothes, the feelings and perspectives I will never understand.  (Regardless of new skills and perspectives... the volume is too great.)

Do not confuse this with regret.  Regret infers that there might have been another outcome had different choices been made. Grief is the response to the tragic, unrecoverable events that may happen without warning and despite our every effort.  Grief is my background.  My baseline.  It is the expectation of loss that insulates me from it.  My emotions are nerves stripped bare, the comfort of 'why' is absent, and I dare not dwell on it.

It is this fear that has me looking to the repercussions of actions, instead of indulging my emotions. (I do not have the experience or skills to indulge anyone else's.)  It is this that has me looking to the future to find new problems that I can fix, and this, I suspect, that led that boy to be thinking about a dog, when 'he should have been' mourning his loss to the world.

I don't mean this to garner pity.  Just perhaps to shed a little light on what might appear to be heartless, emotionless behaviour at a time when everyone is vulnerable.  Consider those who are so vulnerable, they cannot afford to show it.