I’m taking a break for the holidays.
To my usual readers – catch you later!
—-
To those of you out there on the spectrum with me:
I feel the irksome woes of routines being all askew this season.
I don’t like that much either.
Christmas and the holiday season should be fun, but I get it, it’s just different. The shake-ups can shake you up.
They’ll be doing the same to me.
Hang in there.
Cheers,
H2
My wife, a wonderful human, has come to me quite often before, expressing her jubilation over legitimately awesome things: artwork, design, experiences, even things that happen to me — you name it.
She’ll then turn and ask:
“Aren’t you excited?”
I nod.
I grin, even.
I do try to sell it.
“…yeah….no?”
She hasn’t yet stormed off after asking what’s wrong, or how any normal human could fail to be excited or enthusiastic about things.
But we know.
I’m not a normal human.
I don’t get all that excited about stuff.
While depression is a serious challenge that many of us autistics face in some shape or another, that’s not always the root of our excited-less-ness.
Emotions are tough for us to understand, to process, assimilate, and synthesize. Not that we lack them, but they wax and wane in different ways, and not always for what we should get excited over.
But it’s OK.
We get that you’re excited, and we’re happy for you.
We’re just not always on the same bandwidth. We get excited about different stuff.
My wife chided me for being more giddy over the BattleBots final than I was for when I was promoted at work, or something truly important.
We’d help if if we could.
So am I excited, ever?
Rarely.
But I’m OK.
The last interesting person around—magician Ricky Jay—passed away a short while ago.
There’s a New Yorker profile of him that has one of the best opening anecdotes I’ve ever read. But it also stands out for this sobering gem of a quote:
Those most familiar with his idiosyncrasies realize that there are at least three Ricky Jays: a public persona, a private persona, and a private persona within the private persona.
I’ll never relate to Ricky Jay’s skill, patter, or duende.
But I definitely relate to there being Hunters within Hunter.
In The Life Autistic, many relate as well.
Many of us have resorted or otherwise phased into “masking” – a way of passing as normal, skirting our obvious idiosyncrasies, and working hard to make it seem like we’re naturals at social interaction.
There’s that phrase people use: “once you get to know them, they’re —”
I wonder what people think once they feel they get to know me.
There is that polished, fine-tuned, clever professional persona, my H2 — one of my greatest creations.
After a while, people think they get to know ‘Hunter.’ They do, genuinely so. I step out of the armor, one layer removed.
Yet even beyond the veneer, when I hear people think I’m funny, engaging, or otherwise a normal, bright, sociable creature beneath the professional and personal . . .
There’s a Hunter further down, working hard to craft the jokes. Predicting the way conversations could go. Practicing every word so as not to offend with unintended brusqueness. Plotting my timing. Putting my empathetic response into overdrive to make sure I know I can show I care.
Many folks are OK getting to know H2.
Then sometimes those folks stick around, and they’re fine getting to know Hunter.
But then I worry, what comes of getting to know the Hunter beyond that?
The Life Autistic 