The Life Autistic: “But Hunter, you . . .”

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Let’s hear it.

It’s ok.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe it from the outside.

Folks, I’m definitely autistic, even if I don’t look and don’t always act it.

But Hunter, you . .

I what?

Moved out?

Yeah, because my family thought it’d be easier for me to be out on my own and not have to worry about me during their next cross-Atlantic move. I was 16. It wasn’t easy for any of us.

Have a career?

So? Even many neurotypical, non-autistic people don’t! That’s just as normal as it isn’t. I was fortunate to learn, to adapt, to grow, and to work in a place that has mostly valued my work. I’m different, and I work for a place that thinks different.

Got married?

Well, hah, ok, I lucked out there. ^_^

Have friends?

I don’t have a lot of friend-friends. They are special and rare. They’ve stuck around. But I’m an odd duck. And even to this day I’m afraid I’ll lose them if ever I’m too weird. But I haven’t yet. I still have them, and I hope I find more.

Have emotions and empathy?

It’s not that I don’t feel. The intensity is different, the expression isn’t what you’d expect. This surprises me as much as it may do you. I’m autistic, not inhuman.

Are almost fun to be around socially?

Who am I kidding, no one says that.

But if they do – it takes effort, it’s all been work, and none of it comes naturally. I’ve worked hard—HARD—to be a more likable person, and it’s work every step of the way.

Folks, I’ve never grown out of it. I never will.

Autism and its quirks and perks are with me forever.

If they’re not obvious, that’s because I don’t make them obvious.

I’ve grown with it. Into it. Learned to cope, to adapt, to respond, to foresee and plan better.

 

The Life Autistic: Be More Specific than THAT

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I remember telling my daughter to get me a tool.

Mo, can you get daddy the red screwdriver, with the short handle; it’s in my office, on the left by my chair, in the top drawer of my cabinet with the Hot Wheels, and it might be under a stack of yellow paper.”

There’s no way she’d miss that.

Because I did what I’d want y’all to do for us.

We autistic folks can have some challenges when we’re trying to figure out what you mean when you’re not specific.

If you’re asking me “OK WHAT IS THIS??” — folks, I’m gonna low-key freak out, because I can’t answer your question if I don’t know what THIS is.

Or if you’re capping off a long list of things with “THAT needs to be done urgently,” then I’m gonna pause and make sure I know what THAT might be.

Does that sound simple?

It is simple.

Many of us are really logical, precise creatures, and we LOVE unambiguous communication.

So help us out with that.

That, being “being more specific.”

The Life Autistic: Stand and Deliver

This last week I had one of the most intense, searching, and revelatory experiences of my professional life.

EXECUTIVE PRESENTATION TRAINING

Even for you neurotpyical folks, this would have been a daunting ask. Getting each “uhm” clipped, every extra qualifier pounced upon.

For me, I knew what was coming.

I’ve polished my “presenting version” of Hunter Hansen down to where there’s only one thing left to refine.

Me.

I’ve cut out all the big words when I need to present to directors, leaders, etc.

I don’t ramble in circumlocutionary, concentric circles of narrative excess.

But eye contact?

Oh man, if I had a nickel for every time I was reminded to keep my eyes up, eyes down, eyes on the audience, I’d have a lot of nickels.

It’s so hard for me.

It’s like I need a BREAK, because I can only hold a gaze while speaking for so long.

And I almost need a stopping point to look away and “download more content.”

It’s a lot to process!

*But before any of you would cry foul here or think this is some attempt to change part of what makes Hunter, Hunter*

Here’s why I was given that advice.

I’m extremely expressive.

Apparently my face alone does so well to read, reflect, and react to an audience that it draws people in.

And it’s good enough to where I shouldn’t kick them out.

Imagine that. Young H2 would never have believed I was in any way captivating.

In fact, I was told I couldn’t Botox my forehead because of it.

In the end, I was happy. Exhausted, but happy.

The best piece of advice I got?

“Stop performing and just be you.”

Ok, I’ll be me.

You ready?