Hi folks.
This week, I’ll be staying in New Orleans.
By myself, in a city I’ve never been to before.
At a large work conference, all about data.
Which, I had to win a contest to get to.
A contest that involved a technical field I only just recently got into.
It’s like this week combines all the stuff that my autistic self would never have managed years ago.
But here we are: a hard road to the Big Easy.
“I don’t eat with the other teachers,” my sister admitted. “I can’t stand listening to them for more than a minute.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, today they were competing to see who had the worst auto-immune disease and then one of them said you can cure Aspergers with a powder you order online.“
I’m glad I wasn’t there, because I’d have jumped all over that one.
Really? From where? Is it cocaine? Y’all on the Dark Web? Is it high in protein? Where does a brother gotta go to get this?
Maybe it’s a misguided suburban white woman thing, but there’s a certain point at which natural remedies beggar belief.
There’s no magic cure for autism.
But really, that’s the wrong assumption to begin with.
What is there to cure?
Social anxiety? Aversion to eye contact? Empathetic difficulties? Stimming? Hyperlexia?
I’m not going to dismiss the idea of learning to cope and adapt. Far from it.
But thinking that autism is some disease or debilitating condition that demands treatment with some voodoo?
Too bad there’s no magic powder that cures ignorance.
No.
Stop trying to ‘cure’ us.
Be curious. Ask questions. Gain some understanding.
We’re always trying to understand the ‘other’ world better.
You can too.
When I saw the word, I laughed. Out loud. In the middle of my review.
“I’m sorry,” I told my boss. “I said I wouldn’t read ahead to the feedback. But this — it’s too true.”
I’m fortunate to get a performance review every year, which assesses my work and includes feedback from my peers, co-workers, and clients.
I say fortunate, because I’m optimistic; these past few years have been a bit tougher on me.
I made a career switch to something that would test me differently, leaving behind a decent run in middle management, where most everyone seemed to appreciate me, people respected my work, and leadership threw me a ton of money.
I gave that up because I needed a different challenge.
And it has been a challenge — a humbling one at that.
I pivoted to an area where I started from scratch, needing to build my skills, connections, and clout all over again.
Expertise and experience take work. My reviews from years back were like annual coronations of that effort, while now they’ve been more building blocks and stepping stones in my current career.
This year, though, amidst half-decent feedback and kind commentary, one phrase stood out:
“Hunter tends to be a bit obtuse in his analogies…”
OBTUSE!
Unlike the Warden in Shawshank, I got the connotation straight away. I wasn’t mad – that’s a brilliant word! That takes English dexterity, a connoisseur’s word, one that I appreciated.
Obtuse wasn’t just deliberate. It’s just me.
The rest of the comment was positive, but ‘obtuse’ rang as an unassailable attribute, something that typifies me as much as redheadedness.
It was my worst review in years, relatively speaking. It’s a newer gig to me.
But that’s ok.
I’m going to try harder things. I’m going to get good enough to have a chance to be bad at something even more difficult.
Though my stories, analogies, and communication might have obtuse angles, there’s one angle I hang onto that helps most of all:
Positive.
The Life Autistic 