The Life Autistic is a terrible paradox.

We have a hard enough time dealing with it.

I want to be in my own little world, but not alone.

I don’t always feel like talking, but I want people to try talking to me.

I burn out quick at events, but I hate the feeling of missing out.

We’re not always loners; we just need that alone time to recharge.

We have to have the time to ourselves to make the time for others.

We are guarded about who we are, even if we’d love to open up.

I go quiet and distant when I want others to speak up and come close.

I’m not antisocial; I just can’t stay exposed to the elements for so long.

I need to be able to disappear, but I want to be missed when I go.

I don’t mind company; I do mind not having an escape hatch.

—-

Our barriers are fences, not always defenses.

We don’t do well with intrusions.

We don’t want everyone away forever.

We can’t always be brave enough to be inviting.

So we hope you can be that brave for us.

If you haven’t seen Captain Marvel, go see that first, then come back.

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Ok, since you’re squared up on that:

Early on, Carol quizzes Nick Fury about a personal quirk so obscure that it would be impossible to fabricate.

And this “autistic-flavored” quirk came to mind.

Which is rare, because so many other regular ones do.

I only use travel-sized toothpastes for brushing my teeth.

I drink water from a mason jar and milk from a coffee mug.

I literally shudder/cringe at someone rubbing bare skin on carpet

but none top this whopper:

I’ll itch and sniff my hair because it smells like Korean Ramen noodles

If that ain’t the most embarrassing thing ever.

But it’s become so common, leading to exchanges like:

Mo: Daddy, why do you itch and smell your hair?

Me: I —

My wife: Because it smells like ramen.

Mo: Does that smell good?

Me: OK, I — well, yeah, but I —

My sister took note of it once, saying that it’s actually some autistic soothing and smell fixation thing.

And with my poor sense of smell, look, I like when they stand out.

So yeah, it’s part-stim, part-soothe, part-fixation – whatever: I do have the hair to spare!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to boil some ramen ^_^

 

 

 

I had a compelling discussion with a data scientist on my team, where we touched upon things like chess notation, text analytics, and how we’re basically inventing things that will replace us one day.

“I’m trying to take the machine side now. So when they take over, maybe they’ll be nice to me.”

I believe that.

I think they’ll come to me and realize I’m not quite like the other humans.

Rigid. Inviolate. Predictable. Rote.

Just like them.

In The Life Autistic, I’ve discovered a thing or two about being a machine.

It’s too late for me now, but I hope discoveries are not too late for you. Or for your kids. Or for whoever you care about who’s living their own life autistic.

People don’t love the machines.

No one starts their car and thinks: “Wow, I love the fact that you started today. And pretty much every day. Almost without fail.”

Same with their iPhones, televisions, blenders, whatever.

Function without fail is not endearing.

It took me years upon years, decade upon decade – realizing just recently:

My unshakeable ability to remember things for people.

To drive things to a finish.

Never forgetting commitments. 

Always saying hello in our work chats.

And all else: the little chores, the steadfast deliveries, the items never failed.

They are not endearing traits.

They are machinery. 

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The emptiness hit me a while back and quite recently.

“Why don’t people appreciate these things, these unfailing traits about me?”

And as I pressed the BREW button on Mr. Coffee, I almost heard him answer back:

“It’s the same reason you don’t love me, Hunter.

I am but a machine.

I do what is expected of machinery.

And there is nothing more.”