The Dust of Life: Discovering Who I Am

I’m autistic. It isn’t something people often talk about, but there are so many of us out there that maybe we should talk about it more. I don’t really mind in the end whether I am ‘on the spectrum’ or not, but I do want others to realise that it’s ok to speak out. And it just might be your super-power if you can drag it out of the shadows and into the light.

I didn’t know that Asperger’s, autism, or now more commonly ASD were ways to describe why my mind functions as it does until a couple of years ago. I did, however, start unpacking some of my childhood and earlier adult experiences and understanding that they didn’t make sense to the majority of the population many years earlier.

I would observe and mimic behaviours

One of my earliest recollections is watching the other children in school. I recall watching very intently the actions they performed, and the responses those actions inspired in others. I would note positive and negative effect on a numeric scale, and in parallel take the frequency of behaviour matched to situation and determine the probability of each in order to calculate an ROI. Highest return on investment in hand I would then train myself to mimic what would most likely deliver frequent rewarding outcomes. I was age 4.

If this sounds insane, then it might also scare you to know that I also thought this was how everyone must function. I was a good mimic – I still am. And when I saw other children failing to either practice or achieve the same results as efficiently I assumed they were either broken somehow, or intentionally pretending inefficiency in order to gain some advantage I hadn’t yet inferred. Single-mindedly I redoubled my efforts to map the entire system.

To be honest I think I was in some ways a slow learner because I was given clear early indications that not everyone in fact saw the world in the same way. I recall once sharing some of my more valuable observations with what I assumed was a true friend; he responded by outing me socially as a freak and started the first of many bullying campaigns. Don’t feel too sorry for me – I took a very pragmatic and efficient approach to stop the abuse, by throwing a rock at his head (sorry Andrew).

The rules of the system did not allow for collaboration

Instead of beginning to understand how I might be different, I instead decided that the rules of the system did not allow for collaboration on that level, and I didn’t talk about it again until my wife helped me discover in my early 30s that actually everyone doesn’t think the same way; in fact other people are not broken – just different (who knew?!). Sadly, this made friendships a somewhat lesser thing for a long time because I was always playing a part and thought everyone else was as well.

Reading this back I might sound like some kind of dysfunctional machine, but it wasn’t nearly that clean and painless; some part of me understood that I was different, but not why, and so emotional meltdowns, anxiety, and bouts of depression also littered my early life. Perhaps what saved me was being the son of a civil servant in a country with a small population (NZ). It meant a major move to another city and often another island every few years. I could leave behind all the relationships I’d broken with some small slip-up in my acting; letting the crowd see behind the curtain was reliably fatal.

My father and I shared the same skills

I found happiness in solitude, in books, or on an evening being soothed by my father stroking my head for hours as he read. From what I know now he may also have been autistic; obsessed with work, unable to connect emotionally, and unable to respond to the emotional needs of others in a way that didn’t leave them feeling unappreciated and slightly disturbed. My father and I shared the same skills: memorizing everything, distilling systemic patterns from situations and reapplying them efficiently. Those skills paired with studying people became a way to make friends quickly – often to a point where I stand accused of making people be my friends. It is in fact true, but I promise the intentions are benign.

Unfortunately I didn’t have the opportunity in later life to explore the less useful side of my fascinating mind with my Dad; the somewhat odd physical and mental habits that I learned very early to mask but am now more inclined to just accept. Some of the more fabulous examples are: anxiety in crowds, tendency to be abrupt, inability to recognise when I’ve caused offense, repetitive small physical movements (tics), difficulty in recognising and classifying my own emotions or the emotions of others.

I accepted my own fears and saw the unrealised joy in them

So what changed, and why does this even matter? A lot of small things really, which I now understand is how life works for everyone. I played a part in raising a family (often in hindsight not as well as I could have). I met people that inspired and informed me (I read a lot). I came to see beauty just as much in the mundane as in the tragic, and I finally accepted my own fears to the point where I saw the unrealised joy in all of them.

And I think that’s why it matters to talk about it. I’ve realised that my life is about serving others; that I am at my happiest when I can help someone else see a part of the puzzle they were missing; holding them closely and carefully when the whole broken mess that can exist outside us falls upon them always seemingly from a great height.

If you’re reading this brief but honest exposé, and you’re wondering if it’s ok to really be yourself and are weighed down by what everyone around you may think, then I want to share what I’ve discovered. It’s not about me. As someone much wiser once wrote, our earthly lives are somewhat insignificant in the grander scheme:

Watch the stars in their courses and imagine yourself running alongside them. Think constantly on the changes of the elements into each other, for such thoughts wash away the dust of earthly life. – Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.47

If you’ve ever read any of my previous posts you may be surprised to have got this far without the topic of mindfulness coming up. I’m always looking for ways to link the practice of meditation to the practical struggles in people’s lives. For me, finding a way out of my own mind, and learning to accept the world as it is rather than how I might like it to be was greatly helped by the practice.

Mindfulness allows us to to expand the space between what happens and how we react

Mindfulness, over time, allows us to recognise and eventually expand the space between the events that occur in our lives (what happens), and how we choose to react (what we allow to happen to us). It doesn’t repress emotions, thoughts, desires, or fears; rather it allows us to understand them better and experience them more fully, all without the negative connotations that often overwhelm us before we know it.

Meditation is no quick fix, but I know that regular practice over time does deliver benefits. At a high level this is some of what I do not think I could have realised without it:

• I can see past myself clearly

• I can see others more clearly

• I can love everyone unconditionally and wholeheartedly without fear or confliction, and still function – I get a lot done!

If that all sounds too much it’s ok; taken one step at a time the benefits are quite easy to consume. Perhaps I would’ve gotten there another way – there are many paths to enlightenment. I don’t yet possess an accurate way to share how I am different because of a mindful approach to living. I do know that I have seen my life without it and that I don’t wish for that for anyone.

Mindfulness gives me freedom

I might still be a genius at mimicking normal, or there might be a lot of people that humour me constantly and talk about what a nutcase I am whenever I leave the room. What mindfulness gives me is some freedom from needing to know the difference, the confidence to do the right thing – always striving towards the best possible results, and peace that comes with being able to accept every outcome.

About the Author:

KYLE RICHARDSON

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