How I learned to stop worrying and love Facebook

I have, in the past, been guilty of disparaging comments about social media.  I have poured buckets of vitriol on what I saw as the enemies of Tim Berners-Lee's dream of the Internet - the voyeuristic and inflammatory nonsense, the sheer inaccuracy of so much of the content, the disproportionate amount of spare time people seem to have for dross-creation, and pointless online activities.  I can hardy bring myself to type the phrase "cat videos".  If I am honest, and I always am, those narrow views are still firmly held, with one exception.

Sit down and have a swig of that stiff drink - I'm going to praise social media, well one bit of it anyway.

I took the plunge and set up a Facebook profile after taking voluntary redundancy.  Facebook was, at the time, said to be a powerful marketing tool, and I was about to try and go into business for myself.  I failed to grasp, however, that it was an excellent marketing tool for people who knew how to use it. When I found out I would have to initiate and maintain all manner of online relationships and cultivate a client-base, I was scared rigid and immediately deleted my account.  My venture was doomed before it started.

It was years later, on a particularly cold and blustery day in May in the seaside town of Brixham, that the whole Facebook debacle came to mind once more.  We were in Brixham to scuba dive, but the weather had scuppered us again (you get used to this as UK scuba divers) so we decided to head into town and check out the new "Pirate Festival" (whatever that was!)  My husband and young son thought it was great... me, less so.  It appeared to be an opportunity for lots of people to dress up as pirates and hang around together.  There was to be a record attempt, that we could, apparently join in:  The Largest Number of 'Pirates' in One Location.  You had to be sporting an eye patch and hook/sword to qualify, which we promptly bought from a local shop. Good fun and frostbite were had by all (I was a bit bemused by it all) and we all agreed to come back next year with better costumes.

Six years later and we have a crowded diary of historical maritime reenactment events to attend over the summer.  We have serious, period-correct handmade accouterments and a broad knowledge of the politics, maritime history and society of the late 18th Century.  We know more than we probably should about gunpowder (black powder, in these circles) and the weighting of swords.  And we have tremendous fun pretending to fight some pesky fellows in red coats, among canon and musket fire.

I have also revived my Facebook account in order to 'keep in contact' with the fellow re-enactors I meet. I began using it merely to share photos of events, but it has become much more over time.  I have developed the beginnings of what could be called friendships.  I find I share a similarly eclectic sense of humour with many of them, an appreciation of history, costume or engineering with some, physical acting with others.  There would also appear to be a larger than average proportion of Aspies represented.  My interactions are made much easier by the prompts of Facebook, and typing my responses gives me time to analyse what people might mean, and develop decent conversations.  I'm pretty sure I'm forming relationships, and I look forward to seeing how they continue.  Even better, Facebook also allows me to weed out those contacts that I do not have anything in common with, and I don't even have to risk a face to face.

I don't think it's uncommon for people on the fringes of society to find common ground, but I had underestimated the usefulness of social media in helping me and those like me, socialise.  I had considered it a waste of bandwidth, fit only for those with verbal diarrhoea or a bizarre need to publicise every aspect of their lives (however dull or offensive) to everyone else.

Of course there are those who would use this data for evil commercial purposes, but I guess most of us are just trying to keep in touch.  So thank you Mr Zuckerberg, and sorry for all the bad press!

A special sort of kind

I heard some excellent advice recently; this from someone who's judgement I have come trust in a remarkably short time.  He said : "Surround yourself with kind people."  This chimed with another piece of advice I read many years ago; a little snippet of wisdom from Ashleigh Brilliant: "Be kind to unkind people - they need it the most."

A little background....  A friend (and I use that phrase accurately for the first time in many years) was involved in a workshop/seminar about transactional analysis (TA)  which will probably be meaningless to many, but not so to psychotherapists of any ilk.  I first came across the idea years ago, after a recommendation from a psychiatrist led me to Eric Berne's book "The Games People Play" which seeks to demystify the mechanics of social interaction.  It did so, firstly, by identifying "Ego States" such as the 'Parent', the 'Child' and the 'Adult'.  The book was interesting, but I found the practise of using the theory to structure my interactions difficult and tiring.

I looked at the slides my friend was hoping to use during this workshop, and found them interesting. However, I didn't really see anything groundbreaking, mainly because I assumed, (incorrectly) that this was the same sort of thing as the ideas set out in Berne's book all those years ago.  I had recently had an exhibition of my work in central Bristol, and the Evening Post had done a story about it, with regard to Asperger's.  My friend asked to borrow a couple of pictures to take to his workshop to demonstrate the detail-oriented and systemising nature of the Asperger's brain.  I agreed and offered to help in any way I could at future workshops.

The workshop was a great success, and another was swiftly organised.  I was invited to attend in the capacity of co-presenter, which inferred a level of participation I wasn't sure I was ready to provide, but I was intrigued and went along...  I'd offered my help, after all.

That's how I ended up in a comfortable study, discussing TA with two PHD engineers, both trained in TA and one of them; a leading practitioner in using TA as a tool for psychologists working with Asperger's clients.  I could count on one hand the number of NT people who I have met in my lifetime with a detailed understanding of the nature and effects of Asperger's.  To meet someone who (despite being NT) has such an insight into the neurological differences, and the consequences of life with Asperger's, is exceptional.  To attend the workshop created by Rich Hall and Peter Flowerdew, and see the theories explained, and see them translated for NT and Aspie alike, is profound.  It is this inability to understand one another's worlds that is the root of much of the anxiety and frustration surrounding NT/Aspie communication.

I should pause here, to acknowledge the overwhelming kindness I experienced during this weekend. I would say it was a rare privilege, but that would be incorrect, as I have never experienced the like: A room of people who were genuinely interested in my experience, who were sensitive to my sensitivities and appreciative of my honesty.  They called me brave and extraordinary, and made me believe it.  They were a special sort of kind, and I include Peter and Rich in this description.  I was truly moved.

It's taken me a long time to process everything I saw and learned at the workshop, and I'm still absorbing and evaluating some of it.  However, it is clear to me now that the key to NTs and Aspie's understanding each other is the architecture of language.  This workshop centres on the different world-views of Aspies and NT and appears to cut straight to the key differences in the way we experience - everything.  It manages to translate these theories so that they can be used by NT therapists who are desperate to better understand and help their Aspie clients.

I won't go into details, as I am no expert, but one part in particular struck a chord that has kept me thinking on it ever since.  That is the striking realisation that the traditionally understood "Ego State" Models differ markedly for Aspies and NTs.  One particular slide which made a lasting impression, was that of a diagram showing the transaction of  conversation that I recognised from any number of exchanges with ex-employers.  The Parent and Child ego states take much from learned past experiences, and the Adult state is purely based in the present.  The way it is expected to go sees the Parent (Boss) asking the Child (employee) to do a task.  The Child is expected to respond to the Parent, (a parallel interaction) however, in Aspies, it is the Adult that responds, confusing the now 'Disparaging Parent' (Boss), and eliciting an assumption of a response from a 'Petulant Child' (employee being difficult and disrespectful), and not the 'Adult' state response it actually was. The startling connection that has made here, is that there really is no Parent or Child ego state for Aspies.  We really only interact in the Adult state.  This of course would cause enormous confusion in social interaction, and clearly does.  It was immediately clear to me that is is the dynamic behind many of the failed interviews, premature redundancies and abortive social interactions that have plagued my entire adult life.

This is surely worthy of much study, and as if to prove the point, workshop bookings are increasing exponentially.  I am keen to pursue this and help in whatever way I can, as it seems to be a huge leap along the way to mutual understanding between Aspie and NT, and promises more natural interaction without the expectation of the Aspie conforming to NT models.

To put it another way: "There is common ground, it's just not where we thought it was, so put down the net and the cattle prod, and let's talk..."  And it's the kind people who will oblige first...

Learning with the Experts

When I explain to people that I have Aspergers, the response can be somewhat polarised.  I am met either with a knowing smile and a slow nod, (as if this is mere confirmation of a long suspected fact) or with utter consternation and denial.  However, both camps can easily be united in disbelief when I mention the fact that I work in a school.  With teenagers.  Front of Class. As a cover teacher.  And in my spare time, help out at my son's primary school and with the local Cubs and Scouts.

It's too noisy, surely?  Too much social interaction?  How can you empathise?  Communicate?  Too stressful? What? No timetable?  Constant change?  Different students and different subjects every lesson?  Nobody on the Autistic spectrum would choose to do this!

I suppose it does seem strange, but let me explain:  I like working with kids.  I prefer to spend my time talking to kids than to adults.  Kids make much more sense.  They are honest (to a fault, like me).  They prefer honesty, but if they do lie, then it can't be hidden (like me).  They are full of wonder and curiosity (like me).  Their potential knows no bounds. They are brave, have amazing resilience, humour and kindness.  They do not judge.  They can always change their minds.  They don't dismiss anything as boring or valueless without trying it out.  They feel everything keenly and react honestly, feeding back instantly.  I could go on and on.

I love learning - It's essential to me, and I will never stop.  To be around people who are as honest as me, as open as me, as full of wonder as me, as fallible as me, as energetic as me, as silly as me (as anyone who knows me and my penchant for giant inflatables can testify!), and as much fun as a barrel of puppies, too - well. It makes adults seem a stuffy lot..

Ah, but those of you who know my previous incarnation of 'Graphics Specialist' working in Environmental Engineering, will wonder why I haven't always worked with kids...  Well, I worked with scientists then, and in my book, that's almost the same thing:  Wonder... curiosity... lack of social sophistication... sound familiar?

Yes of course, it's exhausting, yes it can be frustrating, heartbreaking, infuriating, but at school and cubs, I can be myself with the kids, and I know where I stand with them.  They don't placate, humiliate, undermine, dismiss.  They praise when they are impressed, they criticize when they are not.  It is clear to me when I have inspired them, when I have upset them, when I have amused them, when I've made a difference to them, and I collect the experiences eagerly.  It is easier than being around adults, and I learn more from them than I can in adult company.  I am learning about social interaction as they do - It is more inspiring than anything I have ever done, and when I see them growing up and learning how to manage in the world, it gives me hope for myself.

Charley shows off his Viking ship homework

Who am I to judge?

I was recently received a rather unexpected invitation from my old Art Club.  I was asked if I'd like to come along and be judge for their Annual Art Exhibition.  Oh, and by the way, if I could see my way to providing a short workshop on pastel work at a later date, then that would be lovely, too.  I agreed straight away; flattered and surprised, as I always am when someone unexpectedly acknowledges my existence in a positive way...   Of course, once I had sufficient time to really process the request to  judge the artworks, I began to panic:  Questions like "I'm not a professional artist... how am I qualified to judge?"  I was a member here just a year or two back... how am I any better now?" and "I don't know anything about art" all clamoured for the top reason why I should renege on my agreement.

I have a long and illustrious history of agreeing first, considering the repercussions after, and then panicking at an exponential rate at the event draws closer.  It is, I have learnt, an excellent way to experience new, sometimes challenging situations that I would not otherwise attempt.  Sometimes I agree to things that don't benefit me in any way, and have, in the past, agreed to things that have been damaging to me.  It's a bit high-stress, I'll grant you, but if I start thinking about something, then you can forget it.  I should pause, about now, to apologise to my long-suffering husband who has borne the brunt of many such situations and who has always stalwartly seen me through the frantic run-up to such events.

(I should also let you in on the chuckle I'm currently having at my own expense - I just spent 20 minutes looking for a suitable alternative to 'run-up' in several online and hard copy thesauruses, and am now late leaving work.  See what I mean about the thinking?)

I knew I couldn't back out, and I really did want to visit my old club...  I had first joined at the suggestion of psychologists running the post-diagnosis group I attended, with a view to engaging in 'structured socialising', which is much easier than the usual method (which I usually refer to as 'cold calling').  Everyone at the club was pleasant and welcoming, and they made it much easier than I had any right to expect.  I had wanted an opportunity to thank them for this, and here it was...

I wrote a short speech explaining what the club had meant to me, and wrote suitable appropriate generic paragraphs filled with glowing praise for all the various elements of what I considered the fundamentals of quality art (thank goodness for that single year of A level History of Art I completed, and Mr Berger for 'Permanent Red'!), and left gaps for additional information I would fill in when I had seen the exhibition.  I found out the categories for which I was expected to find winners and runners-up.  My intention was to leave as little to do as possible on the night. (Spontaneity is a minefield for me with my slow processing for social interaction... You will not get an honest impression, as you might expect from an NT being spontaneous... you'll just get a carefully rehearsed show - I need notice to be spontaneous!)

On the night, I found the decision-making easy, as expected:  I am nothing if not practical, and my objectivity, and lack of bias goes without question.  I asked my husband to review my choices, simply to make sure I had not inadvertently chosen pictures too similar in style or by the same artist.  I gave my speech, adding comments relevant to the individual works, gave out the prizes, shook hands, finished my wine, and that was it. Done.  And everyone got out alive.

I am patently aware that many of these situations actually pass without incident, and I am equally aware that most of the people around me can see the potential for this clearly.  It pains me to confess that I simply cannot see things from this perspective until after the event.  Then, everyone's' confidence becomes perfectly clear, and I feel terribly foolish.  You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you? The problem is: I don't.  Because I'm not NT.  No matter how many positive outcomes I have, this never gets any easier. I never become more assured of success, but I do notice one change:  I allow myself to be talked into things that might be good for me that little bit more often.  A small, incremental step, but nevertheless, in the right direction...

Interestingly, the thought of carrying out an hour's workshop in front of 20 people watching my every move and interrogating me on my technique doesn't bother me at all...

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.

The finer things...

Radiohead made my day today.  They have re-emerged after a long hiatus, with the release of "Burn the Witch."  Now.  Just so we are clear... I am no 'fan girl' (whatever that means!)  I love Radiohead's music, but then, I like an awful lot of music across many, many genres.  But listening to Radiohead's most recent release and watching the delightfully disturbing video, got me to thinking about musical tastes in general...

One of the traits acknowledged among Aspies is a reluctance or inability to differentiate in some matters.  This can sometimes be problematic:  Confusion about how different people should be spoken to in different circumstances, or whether a subject is appropriate for casual conversation, for instance.  But it also means that Aspies are less likely to be racist, sexist, or any of those other 'ists'.  It makes no sense to us to treat someone differently because of the skin colour, fashion sense or looks, and neither does it make sense to avoid genres of music because of their political, historical or cultural basis.  Music is music, and there is merit in all of it.  It is the crowning glory of our achievements as a species (I believe) and a skill over which no other species can claim mastery.

It would never occur to me to say "No, I won't listen to it because I don't like Rap" or "Classical music is boring!" (I nearly choked on that one!)  Music, like all things created by man, can be categorised meaningfully by quality alone.  The skills of composers, bands and musicians and the quality of their music, ranges from 'badly conceived and performed noise' to 'beautiful and transcendent artistry'.  I have listened to all sorts of genres and found good and bad in all (If you want to see how many there are now, have a look at this site: http://everynoise.com/engenremap.html )

Some genres are intrinsically linked with quality... (Sacred music, for instance - composed and held up to the ultimate standard, so quality is almost assured!)  There are also composers, artists and bands that were/are skillful enough and inspired enough, to continually produce interesting, musically challenging, amazing original music throughout their professional lives.  David Bowie comes to mind.  His drive to push the limits of his writing, his enthusiasm for collaboration with other musicians, his range of subject matter and his awareness of culture and society all combined to provide immensely enjoyable, imaginative music across the decades of his career...  Led Zeppelin changed the face of rock music and produced a series of iconic albums.... Aretha Franklin broke through numerous barriers to bring her amazing voice to the public and her passion is apparent in everything she produces, even now, at 74... Antonio Vivaldi left us a wealth of melodic and intricate compositions that are as fresh today as when they were written in the 1700s...

So why Radiohead?  Well, there are few bands that tick as many of my preference boxes as does Radiohead.  Each new album is different in subject, theme, style and musicality, but remains quintessentially Radiohead.  Their musicianship is superb and expert enough to carry their increasingly complex ideas...  The production is sensitive and the enjoyment; slow release:  I often have to listen 5-10 times, and maybe look a few things up, before really appreciating each track...  I love a puzzle, and Radiohead's tracks often harbour include tangential political or social comment .  For example the album, Hail to the Thief, appears to include much comment about the disputed election results in the US that allowed George W Bush a second term.  And this new song's sentiments seem to reflect the UK political posturing and paranoia around immigration and the European Union... the "Trumpton" style video  must ring a few bells...?  As an Aspie, I want my powers of appreciation stretched.  I want to be challenged, but also rewarded for my efforts, and Radiohead has always delivered.

Even if you think you don't like Radiohead (and, let's face it, not everyone does!) their latest 'offering' (watch the video, get the joke!) is well worth a look - especially for those of us who are knocking on 50 and feeling nostalgic...    watch the video