"I love how your mind works"

So, I was in our local community market last night and one of my fave gals who works there, after listening to me ramble about getting my first blog actually posted yesterday, says to me "I love how your mind works" with a huge smile on her face. It was one of those moments that as I was walking down the aisle on my hunt for treats, that I have heard this comment said to me from various people on more than one occasion over the past year or so, made me smile as well. Now, truth be told I have always loved how my mind works, but after 50+ years of wishing I fit in, feeling like an outsider for all of time, especially with women, being told on too many occasions that needed to slow down, not be so loud, not be "so much", why can't you just act normal, chastised for being inappropriate, being too blunt, is that language really necessary, why can't you be more like...given the time I could fill a book, why now? Well, I thought, several reasons come to mind (I shall use bullet points to minimize the run on sentences):

• Women are being empowered to speak their minds more freely.

• We have gone off the rails so far politically that anything has become free game and socially acceptable to say out loud.

• In a society that has been so homogenized by capitalization & commercialism, that anyone not sounding like they escaped from a Wayfair ad sounds interesting. (Random note here - I love Wayfair)

• With A.I. being jammed down our throats in more and more ways, actual authenticity is turning into an actual endangered commodity.

• People making this comment to me have experienced me enough at this point to feel safe that although I can be loud, unfiltered & sweary, that overall, I am in fact relatively harmless, kind & good natured. Unless of course I am pushed too far and then my steel trap of a memory paired with being a graduate from my father's school of British biting sarcasm creates a moment of jaw dropping discomfort & looks of hurt that I regret. Well, sometimes regret. Some people are real dicks and if my verbal lashing shuts them up, so be it.

These are all valid reasons. That being said, I have a feeling that the real reason is that since my diagnosis of Autism almost 2 years ago, I have been intensely open about my Autism and with that I share with people the freedom, grieving & humour (Canadian spelling and as it is Canada Day, well...gotta represent!) that I encounter with each new experience I have through the lens of perception my diagnosis has gifted me with. Because although more and more people on social media are being made aware of autism and especially late diagnosed women and the phenomenon of "masking" there is an air of curiosity that seems to be winning over the fear of "someone who is different" and the usual bad behaviors that often attach themselves to those fears.

So why do I love how my mind works? I would say putting aside the eternal optimism, unquenchable desire for knowledge and boundless curiosity of how the human mind works, it is my ability to see things others do not. Not that I alone see them, back off Gandolph, I mean that many people don't notice. I see colors everywhere I look, however small and yes, I notice them and enjoy them. I also see patterns everywhere I look. It should come as no surprise that my favorite style of games as a child were where one's goal was to match patterns and remembering where they were hidden. If you were a child of the 70's like me, think "Memory" or "Concentration." Or the more adult version that I once played at a bridal shower where a tray was uncovered in front of each person for 10 seconds and underneath were assorted adult items or sex toys. Yup, 100% I won that one. Now, as much as I love games - at this point in my life my noticing of matching things up is more like when I am building something or creating a piece of art. My brain is somewhat of a revolving rolodex of relatively useless data, until one needs it. What you need a piece of whatever that is about 5" long, 3" deep with a curved edge? Beep beep beep.... rolodex spins, oh wait...I know where I can find that and no, I am no longer talking about sex toys so get your mind out of the gutter! All joking aside though it does come in handy as it doesn't just apply to what I already have in my possession. Maybe I saw it at a store. Four months ago. In a different city. But if you're looking for it and I have seen it - give me 60 seconds and odds, are I can point you in the right direction. I often joke that if I had any intention of ever being buried the battle for my epitaph would be between "It's got potential" and "Hell yes, I Macgyvered it." In the more mainstream vernacular, I am a problem solver. One who has no interest in staying within the lines.

Although it is a double-edged sword, I also consider my being so hyper literal to be a superpower. It may annoy some people, but it is probably why over the years my hair clients and massage clients have often commented that I actually listen to them, and they know they can trust that I am actually listening to them. Not actually a choice. That is 100% Autism at work as I have no control over it. It's why so-called high maintenance people can rely on me, I don't have a personal agenda, I hear their request and if I can, I honor it. Funny how once they feel heard, they are no longer "high maintenance" simply people who know what they want. It is all data to me. I will admit it has been a work in progress over the years with male friends or boyfriends. Male friends have said they wished more women were as self-aware as I am and boyfriends historically have had to adjust to the fact that I actually mean what I said and that all they had to do was actually listen to the words coming out of my mouth. Unfortunately, of course and it wasn't their fault at all; most neurotypical women do still speak in codes (I still struggle to understand them), leaving most men assuming they need to "interpret" what is being said to them. Tedious. Being so literal has of course also brought with it a lifetime of well, feeling exhausted trying to understand why people don't just say what they actually mean. On the list of things that made me giggle post diagnosis before the grieving phase hit, was remembering all the times I have said through the decades that the sexiest word under the sun is "efficiency." Somethings do make so much more sense now.

Regarding the grieving phase however, that has been a river that felt like wading through would never end. Realizing that most of my life, going back to about 5 years old, I have felt broken. Misunderstood. Damaged. Crazy. I bought into the lie that it was all in my head. Well, touché it was in fact in my head, but I had no control over it and even today it is a landscape I mindfully navigate as there is no fix, nor medication to help cross the wires that are never destined to intersect. I do my best to go through that steel trap of a rolodex and make peace with a lifetime of misunderstandings and miscommunication, reminding myself that although so much of it was excruciatingly painful, I have survived it. I am able to reflect on my parents, and both feel genuine anger and rage for so much of what they said to me or made me do that in another time could have been avoided and vicariously feel so much joy that I had two parents who both genuinely loved me and did the very best they could, with the best of intentions and zero malice whatsoever, unaware that the very things that frustrated them on so many levels came in fact from something they created; me. Before my mom passed and I was awaiting my diagnosis she asked me how I felt about it. Did I hope I was, or was not Autistic, and how would knowing change my life going forward? I admit I said I in fact hoped I was, because after a lifetime of trying so hard to figure out what was wrong with me, if I was...well, that wasn't my fault. It simply was. At least I would know and not feel like I had wasted so many years because in my core I knew I could find an answer. I am also grateful that the grieving and anger phase did not descend until after my mom had passed. The funny thing about growing up a bit, is after years of fantasizing that I could finally prove my parents wrong, help them to see the error of their ways, blah blah blah, the greatest gift of my diagnosis was that I finally started to make sense to me and my parents were not burdened with the guilt that so many feel when they find out their child is different. Because it was no more their fault than it was mine.

God has a funny sense of humor I often say, and I mean it. I rarely understand why so many of the things I have experienced so far in this great adventure have hit me as hard as they have. I often wish I could sneak a look in the playbook so I could look to the future and see the outcome where it all makes some kind of sense. Alas, that rarely occurs for anyone, and I do figure and accept with an open heart and mind, that we all get hit by mountains of experience, much of which is uncomfortable. But for me, at the end of this journey I will have seen so many colors others miss, seen patterns in the mundane and experienced humans as they actually are, no matter how hard they try to pretend differently. As my autistic brain refuses to build armor and let its childlike whimsy and curiosity be beaten out of me, I get to experience this world in all its color and emotion and noise, which is so fucking vibrant! Ultimately, that is why I love how my mind works and watching time go by I shall never be bored.