Burning Books?

 

I have a lot of stuff.  I have things given as gifts, inherited furniture and hand-me-downs, functioning and broken appliances and gadgets, art and other equipment for hobbies and other pastimes.  I don't like shopping and recycle, repair and reuse as much as I can.  But I am not materialistic, and feel no particular connection to any of these belongings, regardless of whether they were gifts from close family members. I value such gifts no more than the fossils I have collected on beach walks (which does not mean I don't value them - I do.)

I don't think I am sentimental.  I often pore over those questions that are meant to make you really consider your priorities, and give you clues as to the type of person you are. For instance: 'If your house was on fire, and you could only save one thing, what would that be?' You are usually allowed to omit the obvious things (family members, pets etc.) but this has always perplexed me.  Those who would return for a pet, or a photo album, a cherished item belonging to a late relative are deemed more human than those who would return for an expensive or useful item. Few would admit to going back for a laptop or phone (but I understand that has changed recently where teenagers and their phones are concerned, which concerns me deeply).  When I ask myself that question, I struggle with everything about it:  Why is my house on fire?  Why didn’t I put it out?  Where are my family? I don’t have any pets.  Belongings are just things… stuff.  But then I think about my dictionary.

When I was about 12 or 13, I would go to the library, a lot. It was an important haven from school and family where I could lose myself in other worlds. One day, there was a sale of books, and among the well-thumbed volumes were some older books.  One of the books caught my attention.  It was thick, with marbled board covers and a half leather bound spine.  The words Lampriere and the date 1859 were visible in small capitals in gold.  I picked it up and looked at the price.  I looked at the spine again and saw that it was a ‘Classical Dictionary’.  I had no idea what this was, but I liked classical architecture and words, so I looked inside.  I thumbed the pages and the book fell open at NI.  I read the first entry: ‘Nestorius – A Bishop of Constantinople who flourished A.D.431.  He was condemned and degraded from his episcopal dignity for his heretical opinions.’  I was taken aback – What was this?  Who was this person?  What was this language? What was episcopal?  I knew where Constantinople was, thanks to the old song, but the rest was intriguing.  I read on. Nestus, or Nessus – a small river in Thrace…  (Where was Thrace? ) Netum – a town of Sicily, now called Noto, Neuri – a people of Sarmatia (where was Sarmatia?)… Nicaea – a widow of Alexander who married Demetrius…

I was enthralled by the names and places immediately, so I bought the book - using the last few of the tatty pound notes from my pocket money - and took it home.  I followed the references to their logical ends, pulling the threads of history and stories, places, people and events.  Some of them could be tied together, or led to more, connected threads.  Stories and histories began to emerge, piece by piece, name by name.  Within a year or two I had discovered Homer and Virgil, Socrates and Plato and more and widened my reading even more. My vocabulary had probably doubled in size and I had learned an appreciation of Latin and Greek which helped me understand yet more words.  What a find this old dictionary was!

It has sat on my shelf since then, sandwiched between the complete works of Shakespeare and my Aubrey Beardsley Illustrated copy of Thomas Mallory’s Le Morte D’Arthur, to be taken down and carefully thumbed from time to time.  It is very dilapidated now, and I often think I might like to get it mended, but I'm not sure I could bear to entrust it to someone else. 

It struck me that this book might be the one thing I would rescue for my theoretically burning house.  But it would not be sentimentality that would spur me – it is just a book.  But it represents everything about me and the way I see the world - detail, by exquisite detail.  The excitement of finding two snippets that have a common thread, or following enough threads to constitute a story of a battle, an adventure or a tragedy, is laid out within the pages of that book, in much the same way it is within me. To most it is a random collection of defunct facts about irrelevant places and events, but to me, (and hopefully, some others) it was a clue that led to another world; a rich tapestry of magical names and strange language that harks back to ancient times, great deeds and heroes of the intellect and the battlefield.  

No, I probably wouldn’t go back for it. It would be difficult to replace, but I have to believe there are one of two more of them out there…

 

The Lycian Tombs of Dalyan, Turkey

 

 

End of an Era

I have always marvelled at my relationship with my son.  It is a rare and fascinating thing; surprising and delightful - baffling and energising. I have watched him grow from a baby; helpless and needy, through year on year of discovery and adaptation.  I have seen him try and fail, learn and forget, grow and withdraw.  Where once there was a weak and directionless tributary, easy to dissuade and encourage with few well-placed pebbles, now flows a river; drowning obstacles and carving its path through solid rock. Floods and droughts colour his mood, and I must not stand in his way. Not that I have any intention of doing that.

Of course, I have not enjoyed every aspect of this journey.  It is impossible to 'enjoy' watching your child learn about prejudice, misogyny and hatred, and wrestle it into a place where it can be safely dealt with. I have, however, taken enormous pleasure in seeing him recognise and overcome such things.  Now, as he approaches another key juncture in his life, I can't help but look back and bask in pride at the young man he has become.  He is not a genius, has no extraordinary talents or skills.  He works hard, but not as hard as he should, and therefore achieves, but not as much as he could. But he tries, and I know he will continue to mature and, one day, reach his full potential.

I am, by nature, an objective person, and I have always been honest with my son.  I could no more give a glowing, falsely positive review of a drawing or a piece of writing, than I could claim that it was less than its worth, for whatever imagined effect.  Sometimes he would be disappointed that I didn't appear to like something as much as he had hoped, and sometimes he would be surprised as I listed all the unintended merits of another of his projects.  But in the round, he has come to understand that he will only get an honest opinion from me.  Of course he also understands that my opinion is just that:  My opinion. We butt heads constantly, but I usually give in.  I realise he is no different to me in that he needs to find out for himself.  He will not be taught.  Neither would I, and I know how much I have learned, despite this.

I am coming to terms, as all mothers, and fathers must, with the fact that he is his own man.  He will go his own way, whether I think is it the right choice or not.  I fear for him, but not as much as I would if he was not his own man.  He is about to enter a world that is almost as alien to me as the 90s were to my mother.  As he turns 18, I hope we have done enough to give him the skills and the will to succeed for himself.  We will be there for him, for as long as we can sustain.

Reasonable Adjustments, naturally.

Well, we've all talked a lot about what went wrong in 2021, but I don't want to dwell on that.  Good things happened too, although our media seeks to keep us as depressed and hopeless as possible, on a diet of disasters and bad news and celebrity banality galore.   You have to look for balance.  Seek out positivity.  Excavate a new and beneficial path.  It's for that reason I have promised myself more time with Nature in 2022. 

Like many people with Asperger's/ASC, I have always found comfort and wonder in the natural world:  Alone on a beach, in a forest, by the side of a pond - I can while away hours, watching a spider clambering through the grass, or a Jay, burying peanuts and marking the place with a few well-placed leaves.  Equally, I can be transported by the song of a Dunnock or a Starling in my garden, or hang motionless in the water on a solo night-dive, torch off, to watch the bioluminescence of the plankton swirling around my hands.  Nothing brings me such peace as when I am alone with nature.  

I have never really thought too much about what I need for my own peace of mind - I have always done what I thought was needed by others around me - parents, friends, my family, my employers...  Now, however, when I consider how I can feel such desperate anxiety, even in familiar environments and in trusted company,  I am certain that I need to make a significant change and immerse myself in nature, once and for all.  

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by every aspect of the natural world - from geology and palaeontology and detailed scientific aspects of entomological studies to bird-watching, underwater exploration and growing my own fruit and veg.  I have created countless paintings, illustrations, photos, projects and collections to extend my connection.  My years in environmental consultancy taught me how intimately entwined our lives are with the natural world, despite our efforts to separate ourselves from it, and it also taught me how complicated, impactful and effecting those relationships can be.  

My years in education brought home how much our young people have lost as our society forgets its relationship with the natural world.  Will this lead to a society that is ignorant of nature?  It has certainly distanced itself from the devastating impact we have had upon it, so perhaps.  It is true I have been dismayed by the lack of interest shown by young people I have taught in sustainability, plastics in the environment, ocean acidification and climate change and even just being out of doors. But when I witness the wonder shown by a small child as a pill bug unrolls from its little segmented marble, or when they see the caterpillar miraculously become a chrysalis, I know it is recoverable.  Indeed, we must keep trying. The alternative is unthinkable.

My own son has been brought up with Nature, land and sea.  His curiosity was indulged at every opportunity, visiting amazing places, learning to scuba dive, joining scouts, meeting and talking with ecologists and naturalists from an early age.  I knew he was 'hooked' the day he came in from the garden and told me how some of the little wolf spiders were carrying tiny snail shells instead of egg cases: We sat and searched the internet for information on this and he was delighted when we found an old paper that noted this phenomenon, with reference to the 'strong maternal instincts' of these wolf spiders. 

So, what about those who have missed those opportunities, who have been shut down by fear, or lured by the comfort of 'minimum effort', and cannot be persuaded to look up from their smart phones? How do we reach them? 

When I think about social media and consider how it can corrupt, misinform and ensnare, I temper my thoughts by considering its ability to influence, enchant and educate.  If they won't come out to meet nature, we must take it to them.  So why give our children these powerful and poorly-understood tools, only to complain about how they use it?  If we gave a child a hammer and no instructions, they would probably destroy something with it long before it occurred to them to build something with it.  We must be ready with materials to use, be prepared to show them what can be done, what is achievable, accessible, and be confident in our answers when they ask 'why?'.  Only then, can we tempt them out into the real, authentic world and all its wonders.

I'll never forget the expression on the face of the teenage student who had never tasted a raspberry before (only the fake flavours in sweets) as he stripped the canes on our school allotment of their fruit.  Likewise, I will never forget the day we found a juvenile blue shark in the shallow waters off our favourite beach: We tried to show the local holidaymakers its stunning colour and explain how it may have become disorientated, but they were convinced it was dangerous - children were pulled from the water by their parents.  My consternation only increased when those same parents later encouraged their children into the water to feed their unused crabbing bait to a large male grey seal...  There is much to learn, but the effort is essential, and this is something I will never tire of.  

 My son when he was much younger, discovering for himself that the skin of a shark is rough - priceless.

 

The best of times...

It's that time of year again, and I had hoped to have something heartwarming, insightful and completely out of character for a logic loving, systematic, no-nonsense Aspie, to share with you all.  My Christmas tree is still up, so I've thrown in some Dickens, and have sprinkled it with a comforting amount of efficiency in the form of a 'round-up of the last year' so I haven't completely thrown caution to the wind...

I have never read much Dickens, or Austen, Tolstoy or any of the other great writers who's chief delight was in spinning tales of the human condition and the intricacies of complex family or romantic relationships.  I've tried a few times, but I get lost quickly - there is little common experience here to keep my attention.  That doesn't mean I cannot appreciate the masterful and inspiring skill demonstrated by these giants of literature in smaller doses - they are, after all, eminently quotable.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…" 

When I turned my mind to writing my personal round-up of 2017, it was this quote from Dicken's 'A Tale of Two Cities' that my mental Rolodex fell open on.  2017 has been a year of contrasts...

The year began with struggle.  I was desperately trying to manage an increasingly stressful job, (not, difficult, highly responsible, very important or suchlike... just really, unnecessarily stressful).  This was being made more difficult because I was trying to cope with debilitating migraines and equally debilitating side effects from unhelpful drug treatments.  There was, I noticed, an uncomfortable familiarity about the way I was treated as a migraine sufferer...  The lack of understanding about the condition, the isolating effect, the ineffectual and sometimes harmful treatments, the lack of available help:  I'd been down this path before...

But, (I said, boldly starting a paragraph with a conjunction, and including a split infinitive in the explanation) another path was being forged at the same time. This was taking place thanks to the tireless enthusiasm of a small group of people I have come to think of as Friends.  (I feel the need to pause and explain at this point, for those of you who might skip over the significance of this statement.  Naming someone as a Friend, for an Aspie, is akin to bestowing the Nobel Prize.  Make no mistake - great things will be expected. (I write this with the confidence of someone who knows their Friends will see the humour here - which is the most delightful part!))

The formation of our fledgling Charity "The Different Engine" has been a difficult, time consuming, fiddly, awkward, tough task.  And it has been an absolute pleasure to be a part of it.  At the start, thanks to the migraines, I could barely look at a computer screen, but now I have nearly finished our new website: TheDifferentEngine.net.  We have our workshops for next year set up, and interest in what we are doing is growing fast.  Leaflets, articles, books and conference appearances are in all the pipeline. I am learning more about myself and how Asperger's effects the way I experience the world around me, every day, and thanks to Rich Hall and Peter Fowerdew's Aspie TA, I can share this learning with my husband, son, students and anyone else who wants to know about it.

Without it, I would not have had the confidence to leave the harmful environment of my last job (because I wouldn't have recognised what was doing the harm).  I would not have had the courage to talk to prospective employers about my Asperger's, (for fear they would not understand) and they would not have realised the breadth of what I could bring to the role (I would not have had the language to explain).  The essential support and understanding of friends and family that I have relied upon through this difficult year would have been drastically reduced, were it not for the the fact that they have joined me on this journey, and we all now have access to this common language.  After 3 years of investigating this tool and its applications, it still amazes me that writing about it can still raise a tingle of excitement and a hitch of breath.

A last minute meeting, recently, proved to the icing on the cake for me...  I had agreed to come along to a meeting arranged by my friend Rich Hall, with a representative from an Autistic support organisation from which we had we both received support over the years.  I wasn't sure if there was an agenda, or if we were just testing the waters, but I listened as Rich spelled out the key stages of our work over the past few years.  Before long, my enthusiasm got the better of me and I there I was:  Waxing lyrical about my experiences and the way my cynical viewpoint had been changed irrevocably by the efficacy of these techniques and methods...  Our audience was somewhat taken aback by what we had achieved in the time since our previous acquaintance, and he spoke at length about his concerns about the direction of Autism research in the international arena.  It was heartening then, to say the least, to hear his positive response to our work - developed by NTs and Asipes together.  This is the most important type of endorsement in my mind - that of people who have lost faith in the systems that are designed to help people like us (most of them researched and designed by NTs in isolation, or using NT designed and interpreted research from autistic contributors)...  If they can see the benefit and scope of what we are doing, then even my appalling self-doubt cannot put up a sufficient argument.  'Nothing about Us, without Us' is one approach, but we chose to look beyond 'Them and Us' to the potential that comes from truly understanding the strengths of diversity  from both perspectives.  What we have achieved could not have been done by NTs or Aspies working in isolation.  We have tackled the barrier itself, and it has toppled.

2017 has indeed been a year of contrasts - illness and healing, leaving a job and gaining new employment, giving in and taking the plunge, despair and hopefulness, self-doubt and self-belief, trying to help and allowing myself to be helped.  Not as eloquent as Dickens, nor as dramatic, but I feel this year marks an important landmark.  "The Different Engine" is about to make a world of difference to a world of people, hopefully, two worlds.  I am very proud to be a part of it.

The hits keep coming...

So, has the bubble burst?  Has my new-found validity run out of steam?  Met it's match?  Died a death? The answer is most assuredly: No.

Indeed, I have put it to the test.  I have thrown everything I can think of at it:  There have been social events, stressful health issues, concerns about the educational future of my son (SATs and Secondary Schools), and the most potentially incendiary of all: A meeting with Senior Leadership at my school: (a second attempt at an abortive OH follow-up meeting that led to a very public meltdown...)

I had given it much thought, of course; (don't we always?) the reasons why this meeting ended so quickly and so disastrously...  The unexpected venue of the large conference room next to the Principal's office... the equally unexpected attendance of my line manager and a representative of the School Federation's HR department, as well as the one person I had expected.  As they began to go through the points raised in my OH report, I immediately began to feel defensive, hearing demands instead of questions, ultimatums instead of realities.  I felt tears prickle at my eyes as the panic rose, and that was that.  Less than 5 minutes and the rest of the day spent agonising about how annoyed everyone would be at me, that they had arranged this meeting and made the time... etc. etc.

Weeks passed, and so did the TA 101 part 2, (where my husband's TA Epiphany took place) and where validation was achieved, despair was mislaid...  Then came the email:  Would I like to meet up and try this follow-up meeting again?

Was I stricken with terror?  Did I arrange to be absent?  Did I refuse, saying it wouldn't be necessary?  No.  Not only did I agree, but, when the meeting details were sent - I asked for them to be changed:  Could we meet somewhere less formal?  Could it just be the two of us?  Of course, this was accepted, because they are reasonable requests.  I was very pleased with myself indeed.

When the meeting came around, the atmosphere was entirely different.  I asked that we omit the blow-by-blow account on the OH report, in favour of an informal discussion about things I found difficult at work.  I talked about the lack of interaction with my line manager, my difficulty with networking.  I spoke confidently about what I have to offer, and my frustration at not being able to communicate it.  I spoke about the shame I feel that I have to ask for explicit, verbal feedback because I cannot rely on picking it up through non-verbal cues common in the professional relationships most of the staff here share, (mainly because this is often misinterpreted as needy or egotistical.)  As the conversation went on, the panic never materialised... I felt almost equal, justified, calm, articulate - my vocabulary did not desert me.  I voiced my suggestions and they were not dismissed.  There was no awkward end to the meeting.  We were just two colleagues walking to our next appointments and casually finishing a conversation ignited by our discussion.

I realise the only thing that has changed is my attitude towards myself.  My ability to understand non-verbal communication has not improved miraculously, I have not become more confident, more social, observant...  No.  And the hits keep coming. But I now know that other people can understand my world, and that gives me validity.  Therefore my thoughts, words, feelings and actions must be valid:  This upturn in my professional fortunes is merely the result of my analytical mind applying new knowledge to an existing situation.

But it changes everything.

In a different light: A full-disk multiwavelength extreme ultraviolet image of the sun taken by SDO on March 30, 2010. False colors trace different gas temperatures. Reds are relatively cool (about 60,000 Kelvin, or 107,540 F); blues and greens are hotter (greater than 1 million Kelvin, or 1,799,540 F).
Credits: NASA/Goddard/SDO AIA Team

And now for something completely different...

I find myself in a difficult, yet familiar position.  I need to find another job.  My current role is fast becoming untenable, and the situation shows no sign of improving... despite my efforts.  I have been in this position many times:  That moment of recognition...  I cannot change the opinion of the people in my environment, and they have concluded that I will not change mine.  I am abandoned and, to them, have become nothing more than an irksome blockage in the otherwise fluid workings of the organisation.  It is a sad and repetitive cycle that I'm sure many Aspies will recognise.

I do not look forward to the prospect of job hunting.  I will avoid it at all costs - even to the point of staying in a role that is unsuitable enough to be damaging to my health and  home life.  "Why on Earth would anyone do that?!" I hear you cry.  Well, I'm tenacious. I don't like to admit defeat.  I always to do my job to the very best of my ability, which is not inconsiderable.  I do find it difficult to 'let go of the bone', so to speak:  I do not notice the metaphorical marker posts (clear to NTs) that are the clues to when efforts should cease, when it's time to negotiate a sideways move or make a complete break... When I reach the 'tipping point', it is only after I have become ill through stress from the constant mis-communication, the culmination of too many long hours, lack of breaks or exhaustion from high pressure deadlines...

My current role has been a little different in this sense. There are no long hours, no deadlines... just a combination of isolation, unrealistic expectation, management inefficiency and lack of support and recognition:  All things I like to think I am immune to - after all, haven't I dealt with such things on a daily basis for most of my life?

Eric Berne defined the fundamental unit of social action, and called it a 'Stroke'. So, if a 'transaction' is any social interaction, a Stroke is each social action considered individually, and can be positive, neutral or negative. Berne believed that we seek positive Strokes in our transactions. As an Aspie, I live in a world where positive Strokes are rare, and I can fail to recognise them even when they do happen.  But I live in hope.  On my better days, it is hope that gives me my drive, my motivation, my optimism.  But sometimes hope is my enemy, the slave-driver that keeps me scrubbing away at the same spot on the floor until my fingers are bloody and raw.

I am so used to trying to fit into the NT world and living up to NT expectations that I sometimes think I will never be able to stop, and 'be myself'.  The NT world is the only world I have known, until recently.  In order to break the cycle, confidence is key, but my picture of myself is just as skewed and incomplete as the one I am sure NTs have of me, and until I can see myself more clearly, I will surely continue to make the same mistakes.  And this is the thing that makes me dread the process of job hunting.

The complexities of NT world means that making social errors is easy...  Today, on my first outing into job hunting for a few years, I was dismayed to see how, over the last few years, the lists of requirements for prospective employees have lengthened and  become more severe; even for the most menial and poorly paid of jobs...  What confidence I had left immediately plummeted .  Although I am both accomplished and experienced, and a whole raft of other, what I am assured are, employer-pleasing things, I do not have a degree.  Therefore, as an Aspie, I would never apply for a job that states that a 'degree-level qualification' is essential.  I would limit myself to applying for jobs for which I have the stated qualifications, experience and abilities.  Simple, yes?  But, I am reliably informed, these requirements are not necessarily written in stone.

How can I hope to navigate the world of work when even the prospective employers don't necessarily mean what they say?  How will I know what expectations it's okay not to meet?   Am I expected to speculate about my ability to undertake tasks in a situation I have never experienced?  Should I guess about how I would progress, interact with other people I have never met?  Why is it okay to offer my qualification when I don't meet the requirements in the clearly stated language of the advert: Why say it's essential, if you are open to persuasion, why say it's desirable when it's not required in the role? Surely this practice of inflating requirements to raise the quality of the pool of applicants is ill advised at best and discriminatory at worst?

I feel very strongly about this.  How long has this practice been in use?  How many applications have been discounted based on my literal interpretation of the role?  And I always thought the interview was the hardest part....

Friends with benefits

I recently attended a workshop hosted by BASS (Bristol Autistic Spectrum Service) on Friendship. Hearing others' definitions of friends, and hearing about their expectations and experiences was sobering. Friendship is something I have coveted for as long as I can remember, but it has always eluded me.  I have watched; enchanted and bemused in equal parts, as people perform their social dances around one another, but I always have the feeling that this is not for me.

I have difficulties with the most simple elements of the dance...  Compliments, reciprocation, interest and recall of important events, facts and anniversaries all present potentially friendship-ending problems for me.  I do want to have friendships, and I have attempted them, but even when the exchanges seem effortless, the sense of foreboding is palpable...  "Don't get too comfortable", warns The Voice: "It'll all go wrong eventually."

And so it does.  I am undecided on whether this is self-fulfilling prophecy, mechanical error or sheer inevitability, nor am I entirely sure the differentiation matters.  I have waited patiently for the friendship which becomes seamlessly 'intuitive', but it has never materialised.  Failure after failure (usually my own fault) has taught me a lesson that is hard to ignore:  I do myself, and others, less damage if I don't have friends.

I suspect that some might balk at this - after all, it's an effort for everyone isn't it?  You'd be right to question it, but there is a caveat.  If it was purely just hard work, I would achieve it.  I work very hard.  At everything.  There is nothing that I don't try my best at - it's just my nature.  But friendships are not just about me...

The aspect that concerns me most is the possibility of really hurting someone else; achieving the opposite of what you intended.  People's social circles are complex and pitfalls lie in wait around every corner.  Nothing scares me quite as much as the prospect of making and then losing friends. None of the maintenance required for friendship occurs to me intuitively, so the risks of alienating or hurting someone are heightened.  My sensitivities are also heightened, and the idea of losing a friend because of something I have said or done is devastating to me.  People who I could call friends have been so few and far between, the prospect of failure generates a fear so great that the isolating alternative seems safer. I know I have inadvertently hurt people I considered friends before, and undoubtedly will again.  No different to anyone, you think?

The difference is, that there will be no explanation forthcoming to bring the friendship back from the brink - I will not have realised what I did, and people who have been hurt will rarely feel like spelling it out..
The difference is, I will feel shame so keenly that I will probably never have the courage to speak to that person again.
The difference is, I cannot afford to lose friends - it is far too great an investment for me.

So what does friendship with me entail?  Only the most tenacious sorts will get past the first hurdle, better known as 'getting me to realise that you are interested in being my friend'.  (After scaring everyone away for a number of years, I can be very slow to interpret these messages.)
The next step can take forever, so make yourself comfortable.   I am unlikely to accept any invitations to go out for coffee, or meet up in any sense.  I need to gather data.  (Don't worry - this doesn't mean hacking your Facebook account or stalking of any kind!) This might entail a period of email exchanges on a range of subjects.  I cannot make those intuitive judgements, that come so naturally to NTs, in a few short face to face meetings, nor a few texts or a Facebook comments.

Think of this less as a test and more as a reality check: Anyone who loses patience with this process is never going to make it in the long run.  It's a way for people to get out before they invest too much. In all honesty, anyone wishing to be a good friend of mine (not just a casual acquaintance) has to be prepared for a long and frustrating road:  I will forget Birthdays, anniversaries, dinner dates... you name it.  It will not occur to me ask you how you are, how your family is, how your job interview went.  I will say tactless things about your outfit, your behaviour, your family. But...

I will apologise genuinely and unreservedly if you tell me where I went wrong, and I will sincerely try to learn from it. I will never stop trying to be a better friend.  I will be a loyal supporter and fierce defender.  I will always seek to lighten your spirit and make you laugh. I will always be honest.  I will never be boring.

Of course, I will also try to teach you all about Quantum Physics... which is a good thing, dammit!

Losing my Sparkle

I listened recently to an abridged reading of Chris Packham's 'Fingers in the Sparkle Jar' (I will read the full text soon) and was mesmerised and deeply affected  to hear another voice that has experienced life in a similar way to me... One that has responded with similar vigor and been hurt in similar fashion. To hear the question: "Were you a happy child?" answered with such passion and certainty: "O course not! How can any child be happy?" struck such a chord, as did his descriptions of the intensity, detail and clarity with which he sees and experiences things.

We Aspies can live isolated lives, so I sometimes forget that there are others like me out there.  It makes me swell with pride when I witness an individual surprising everyone and holding misconceptions up to the light...  Showing  people that they don't quite fit in that snug pigeonhole to which they were consigned....  Turning out to be more complex than just that familiar face.

It soon became apparent that there was much here with which I identified.  As I listened, Chris began to explain his motivation - his constant drive to be better, learn more... to 'win' as he calls it.  I am very aware that, in lieu of the companionship, support and kindness that comes with friendship, I tend to try to impress people with my hard work, commitment, knowledge - anything that I can achieve with purely intellectual or physical effort.  I never try to 'wrong-foot' people, but it's easy to do just that, simply by being enthusiastic, eloquent and capable: How can somebody with all 'this' be this sad, this isolated, this exhausted?  It doesn't make sense to most NTs, but it couldn't be more familiar to me.

Chris also talks about his decision not to take his life, at a time when this seemed the only option.  I was reminded that I have considered ways to "take a permanent rest from it" on several occasions through my life, and to hear another voice acknowledging the lure of just not trying any more... to give up... to lose... well.  On the occasions when I slipped into those really deep depressions, I would write lists of pros and cons for this decision as I did for any important decisions; looking at the available data, weighing the consequences.  I could never isolate the exact scenario, so the outcome was never certain... I could never be quite confident that everyone I knew would be better off without me.  I have come to believe that I have some worth over the years, mainly because I can't deny the continued presence of my incredibly patient and understanding husband, and my amazing little boy... I must be doing something right, as they say.

I am looking forward to reading the book in it's entirety, despite its uncomfortable content...

The natural world has always been a balm for me in difficult times, and I have an enduring love of birds, insects, marine life, dinosaurs, reptiles and much more.  I spend as much time as possible near the sea, its rocky, semi-deserted shores and the vast cloudy panoramas it offers.  I feel truly relaxed when staring at the life in a drop of pond water under a microscope or at the night sky through a telescope.  I marvel at the colours of a Rose Cockchafer's wing covers, sit, fascinated, by the actions of a wolf spider who has lost her egg-case...  This is the 'Sparkle Jar': These are the things that bring me joy, convince me to stay, these, and the opportunity to impart their beauty and importance to others, if I can.