Let's Talk about Us

I've joined a spiritual group that meets on Wednesdays. A thousand repetitive instincts are currently working to make sure I never return, but I've set my intention to keep up with it, because it is casual, moderate, and interfaith. At my first meeting last Wednesday, I think I realized why these instincts are so impossibly flighty. I have no concept of connection.

One of the main tenants of this group is the connectedness of all things. I've looked into it. It's the food chain, the circle of life, the works. In that way, it makes sense, but trying to apply it to my personal life is like dividing by zero. It just doesn't compute.

Growing up in Utah, sometimes dubbed "Mormonia," when you're not a member of the fold and are raised to embrace that fact, you belong to "US," and the Mormons belong to "THEM." It's the same when you go to a Catholic high school. If you cross yourself with a smiley face, it's because you're part of a smaller "US" compared to a greater "THEM." If you're not Catholic, Mormon, Evangelical, Buddhist, Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, Zoroastrian, or even Atheist, suddenly, tiny you, of "US," are separate from a titanic "THEM." So long as you embrace that separateness, you will never belong to any one of those groups. That's tricky when looking for a place in the world.

That doesn't just apply to religion, mind you. When developing a personality and a relationship with people at large, if you don't want to be too mean, too nice, too smart, too stupid, too funny, too melancholy, too analytical, too spontaneous, too dramatic, too down-to-earth, too admiring, too condescending, too passionate, too apathetic, too macho, too effeminate, et cetera, but you look around and see hundreds of people who are too much of something, suddenly, "US" shrinks to 12-point, Helvetica "ME," and "THEM" becomes the remainder of this blog post.

Twenty-four years down the line, the insanity of this mentality has suddenly become clear. I am actively resisting belonging to any particular group out of fear that belonging to that group would alienate others in other groups. In so doing, I have distancing myself from every group and wondering why no one has decided to join me. Maybe it's just the word "alienation" that's taken me to this extreme. I've been friends with people from all sorts of different backgrounds, so why is it so hard for me to accept that they could be friends with me if I belonged to something that they did not?

I'm going to stick with this group. If I'm going to learn how to progress in life, it will not be alone. Maybe that's the secret to overcoming Asperger's. The more time I spend around people, the less trouble I will have with seeing the truth that there really is no "THEM." It's all "US."

One Year Since

I admit, I'm a little off on time. Technically, it should have been last Saturday that I noted the one-year milestone for this blog; however, as I was about 300 miles north without access to the internet, let alone electricity, now is as fine a time as ever to look back.

The launch of this blog was, as are many of my hare-brained ideas, met with utter ambivalence, though it did once cause a prodigious argument on my Facebook profile, back when I had one. It became utterly critical for me to keep writing and publishing, writing and publishing, always with humor at the forefront because, I figured, no one wanted to read anything else; life was depressing enough without me adding to it. It took less than a month for me to start obsessively monitoring the weekly view statistics, cranking out more entries when I didn't get enough responses on the previous ones. I wanted feedback. I wanted dialogue. I didn't get it. People were hung up on the title. Finally, that's when I realized how tired I was of the constant posting and the constant monitoring, of setting myself up to use my personal information to please other people. I was giving myself away and getting nothing in return. At least whores get money for their services.

It's taken me a year at least to realize that I don't actually have to please anyone. Mostly, this came from re-reading The Way to Love, which I don't feel obligated to chronicle chapter by chapter anymore. Check it out if you want to learn more. From it, I have learned two truths that are gut-wrenching in their difficulty, based on my ingrained habits, or programming:

1. I don't have to please anyone.
   • Pleasing another person fuels a desire for further pleasure and becomes, above all other things, a chain. Realizing this has made it so much easier to overcome my fear of talking to people. Not giving a shit what they think about me, because there is nothing they can do to ruin me, has made dealing with people so much less stressful than ever before.
2. Happiness is not a destination.
   • I devoted nine years of my life to the search for a "soulmate." In so doing, I lost a great deal of my creativity, my focus, and my self-esteem. What I learned is that the soul does not need or even have a mate. Can we call the Enlightened Ones who did not marry "incomplete?"

For the first time in recent memory, I'm finding the very thought of a relationship repulsive. To me, a new relationship, while pleasurable to the senses, would be a spawning pool for insecurity, distraction, and self-deprecation. The idea of returning to the old habits of paranoia and codependency, of making sacrifices for the personal benefit of others, makes me physically ill. When I talk about the last year of adventures that I've had, my married coworkers wag their fingers and cluck "Wait 'til you get married and have kids; then we'll see about your freedom." There is absolutely no appeal to this.

However, I do sometimes still feel alone. It's not easy converting your love for a physical human to a love for something intangible: a feeling, an idea, or a deity. Yet, I seldom feel alone when in solitude; it is when I am around people that the feeling strikes. I spent my birthday camping in northern California, alone. I had no problem driving, dining, or sleeping alone; nor did it bother me not to have a cake and presents. In fact, it was lovely all around. The trouble came at dinner time the second night, when I was camping at Mount Madonna. I was alone at my table, surrounded by people chatting with each other. Need I say more on the matter?

So, after a year of delving into the inhibitions surrounding Asperger's, I've reached the following status: I am now secure enough to choose Will over Obligation and start building my social base, but after the years of a false journey, I am disillusioned enough to see no real point in building such a base up again. People are too busy for me, and I for them. A thousand moments of solitude eventually drown out a moment of loneliness.

Though the foundation and the walls are built, there is still an empty space inside. Building on the progress of the last year, the new quest will be to find what will best fill that space.

Practice

I spent the weekend in Spokane, watching about 1200 caps and gowns file up, across, and off stage. My grandma told me to yell for my brother when he came into view. I found that I couldn't. Seriously. I could not raise my voice.

In 2009, while doing a documentary on the placebo effect, I had my aura read by two different people in two different states. Both readers noticed my crown chakra (mental) was ablaze with energy, while my throat chakra (communication) was about the size of an amoeba or Donald Trump's charm. I've been getting steadily quieter over the years too. I sound perfectly intelligible to myself, because what I say registers clearly in my mind, but it's rare anymore that I don't have to repeat a phrase two or three times to be understood. It gets unnecessarily frustrating.

The cause is two-fold: one, I don't want to be disruptively loud as I was growing up, and two, I prefer most conversations to be private without bystanders leaping into the dialogue at the first convenience. The issue is that my concept of volume is shot to hell. As a child, I was a screamer, an exclaimer, a singer, etc. In short, I was loud all around. It drove many people nuts, particularly the adults in my life, who invariably told me to tone it down. After a while, especially during the pivotal 6th grade year, which saw the first big blow to my self-esteem, I learned that it was better to be silent, discreet, inconspicuous and therefore hidden from critical eyes.

Where this presents a problem is in real social situations, like graduation, or a sports game, or really any exchange in which more than two people are involved. I can't hold my own in these situations. I don't know how to barge in, cut people off, or make my point. I'll start to say something, but it's either too quiet or devoured by the existing momentum of another's soliloquy. I may have a very good idea in mind, but I just can't get it heard. This has been a great contributing factor to my ongoing isolation; it's not that I want to be in the spotlight all the time, but to actually be included, heard, welcomed would be so very nice. Nonetheless, this has remained elusive over the years.

A runner's legs grow thick and strong, a swimmer's arms as powerful as legs. That which is not used atrophies. Such is the case with my voice. There is this need inside me to shout, proclaim, sing, project, SPEAK for crying out loud, but my voice does not follow my heart and stays timid and weak, still afraid of sixth grade disapproval, despite the extraordinary progress I've made in other fields. I understand the mantra of "Practice, practice, practice," but I have no direction to motivate me through the mire of imagined criticism. I'm afraid to sing in my own room and car, for Pete's sake, out of fear for disturbing others with a sound not unlike a cat with its tail caught in a garden edger. Yet, I want to be loud again, badly, and I'd rather not wait until the magical age of 75 when all inhibitions go to shit and I can say and do whatever I want while people understand that I'm just old then smile and nod. Maybe I just need a better grasp of what it is I want to say. What do I want to say?

Lovely Lady Liberty

I just finished uploading my photos from the long weekend in Sequoia National Park. Lots of people were excited to see them. Of course, a fraction of those "lots" actually knew I'd been to Sequoia.

In the weeks preparing for this trip, I'd gone through a lot of internal debating (big surprise there), mainly on the subject of whom I could invite to accompany me on this trip. It had to be someone available, someone with whom I could get along for three straight days, someone who could get along with me for three straight days, and someone with whom I could feel comfortable sharing a bed for two nights. The list narrowed and narrowed and narrowed until I was left with one person: myself.

Of course, this less than ideal decision presented a number of other concerns. What if I got stranded in the snow without cell phone reception? What if I went hiking in the foothills and either fell or encountered a cougar? The thought of being alone in the wilderness frightened me; I felt it was my destiny to die out there, but I was going to go anyway.

When I actually got there, the fear melted away. The place was so beautiful. If this were my time, I'd gladly take this as my place. Over the course of the next three days, I set my own schedule, ate where I wanted, took as long as I wanted for photography, and felt wholly free to interact with everyone I met along the way, mostly travelers from Europe. I was not alone; I was not lonely. Of all the feelings I felt most strongly, freedom was the chief.

I've spent much of my life and most of my school years holding back from doing things because I wanted someone to go with me. A combination of indecision on my part and indifference on the part of others kept me indoors, on the computer, away from real experience. I loved it and hated it. It was fuel cell for my fantasy but a prison for my reality. However, since graduation, since logging off of Facebook, since ending my utter reliance on other people to have fun, I'm doing more and I'm having more real experiences.

I realize that I am failing miserably at my New Year's Resolution to make 2011 the year of the relationship, that shying away from others is contrary to the mission of this blog (to overcome the isolating symptoms of Asperger's), but to be honest, the feeling of freedom standing in the snow, surrounded by a cathedral of red trees and nothing else but the sound of silence, was supreme. I felt happy. I felt whole. I did not have to give account to anybody.

Of course, this leaves me with one final dilemma: Where is that line between freedom and loneliness? Would I have benefitted more from bringing someone along, or was this the right choice? I suppose the only way I can know is by going on more adventures, seeing who's interested in joining me, and putting forth the effort to meet new people who might be more interested. Fortunately, I still have the freedom to make those decisions.

Family Friends

There was a concept discussed in my Religions of China class during my sophomore year of college that really struck me: filial piety. Filial piety is the respect of the child for the parent, and it is one of the utmost virtues set forth by Confucius. Basically, it is the responsibility of the child to uphold the family name, honor the parents, take care of them, and ensure male heirs. I had trouble with all of these, the least reason of which being that I won't be producing any heirs in the near or even the distant future. By societal standards, since I won't be continuing my family name, I will be doing them dishonor. I took this to heart, and since that class, I've felt responsible for the emotional well-being of my parents.

While reading Boundaries has helped me draw the necessary lines and allow my parents responsibility for their own well being, a big boost came this morning over brunch at Mimi's when it finally clicked to me that my parents had a lot of friends and that they could actually go out and do things with their friends and have a lot of fun. This hadn't occurred to me when they announced their joining a wine club. This hadn't occurred to me when my dad texted me pictures from mountain running with his friend. It only occurred to me when my mom announced that she and my dad had been invited to spend some time in their friends' beach house in San Diego, just parents because none of the kids would be available.

It's kind of funny when I think about the little prison of naiveté in which I've kept myself locked for so long. I seriously believed that being an empty nester was the end of the world, and well, let's be honest here, after watching my dad fall asleep on the couch at 7:45, I'd begun to wonder. Nonetheless, the realization that both of them can still go out and have fun, even when I don't call, promises to be very liberating. They want me around; they don't need me around. If I choose not to accept an invitation home, they won't be permanently wounded. It all sounds so silly, but I'm actually excited, not because I want to see my parents less, but because I don't have to bend over backwards to keep them happy.

Gooble Gobble

I won't be offended if you don't get the title reference. That being said, I logged onto Meetup.com and joined a group for people with Asperger's Syndrome and other forms of High-Functioning Autism. I got a kick out of the symptoms list on the About page. The familiarity is frightening. Should I start going to meetups with my fellow aliens, I may have a blast or find myself amidst a great gaggle of miscommunication. In any case, pretty much all of the symptoms apply to my life, but these especially:

• People think you are an ass, and you have no idea why.
• You can't make accurate social conclusions: You can get a joke (stated conclusion), but you will not know someone is angry, or that they are angry with you (or you assume anyone angry around you is angry with you).
• Ever get these responses? "You think too much," "I have another call," "That makes my brain hurt thinking about it..."
• You can mimic/mirror people and an environment for a couple hours. You may have a "speech" mode and use tricks to get through social situations (feels like a performance).
• You do have facial expressions, they just don't always match. Your response will not always be perceived as as you expected it to. Example: You are excited about something, but people think you are angry. Same thing with voice inflection. You won't know why they think that, or what to do about it.

So Long, Book of Faces

Whenever I feel the pull toward religion, it's normally for a reason. I guess that's the point of it, right? In any case, this morning I felt the urge to attend a church service with a very good friend of mine. By the end, I was convinced that the divine is still desperately trying to speak with me despite my angry, closed ears.

The subject was Ephesians 4:26-29, on the topic of communication and how not to offend the Holy Spirit. In it, the pastor recounted four ways to keep communication godly, each one affirming the next, most critical step I need to take on my path out of Asperger's. They are:

1. Communicate Verbally
   (Nonverbal communication is so easily misinterpreted.)
2. Communicate Honestly
   (If you can't encourage each other with the truth, your relationship isn't very deep.)
3. Communicate Regularly
   (When you can help it, never go to bed with an unresolved issue.)
4. Communicate Purposefully
   (If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all.)

The truth is, at the root of my mania is the fact that I have flouted each and every one of these guidelines. I've hidden for years behind text messages and E-mails, afraid to be without a Backspace Button. I've molded the truth to prevent revealing my true feelings, for fear of a damaged reputation. I often adhere to an intense message quid-pro-quo: when I've sent someone a message, I do not speak to them again until they've responded, for hours, days, weeks, years, ever. Finally, when I communicate, it is largely for the sake of communication itself; I'll start a conversation without necessarily thinking about how I would like to direct it, then get upset when it dissolves into long pauses and sidelong glances.

So I'm taking the first step tonight. I'm deleting my Facebook account. I'm taking an enormous bite out of my dependence on text-based communication and forcing myself to work on actual change and actual relationships. The past has been repeating itself far too much lately, and in order to stop it, I must make a much larger change than I'm accustomed to making. Though I will no longer have access to daily updates and photo albums, I hope that the exchange will be to have an active role in more daily updates and photo albums.

Nietzsche claims many people wait for the call, "that accident which gives the 'permission' to act." I claim no great catalyst. I'm neither having a breakdown, nor moving away, nor suicidal, nor just going away and coming back in order to get attention. This is about rediscovering what is real. This is about rediscovering humanity over machinery. For the first time, I can actually thank the Bible and an unfamiliar church for their support. Sorry, Nietzsche, but that's just the way it is.

You own one too? Yes, but I loaned it to Sgt. Pepper.

I've hit a stumbling block on my path to a positive attitude, and it is the very nature by which I connect with people. I've never been able to grow close to a person through discussion of the weather or childhood frolics. No, the closest I can get to another person is through the broken heart.

Commiseration over past pain is the quickest way to intimacy, because it immediately places two people against an ominous foe: other people. They are then both on each other's side, fighting for and with each other, comrades in arms. This has long been the deciding factor in whether people become my friends or remain acquaintances. There must be a past history of pain, and in order to find the emotional intimacy I crave, I have to find it. The problem with this approach is that it invariably turns the conversation negative and frankly makes me come across as morbid. Maybe I am. Nonetheless, a story about past injury is the most revealing sort of story a person can tell, laying bare the vulnerable interior to scrutiny. Revealing it is a sure sign of trust and security in the other person. It is Connection.

So the problem being faced at this point is how to attain the same degree of intimacy, if possible, using a more positive approach, one that does not turn the conversation toward the side of gloom. Or if there is no alternative, then it becomes necessary to wait and see, to find a way to enter the subject and exit it, retaining the connection while shedding the gloom. Taking suggestions...

Five Rules to "Have a Good One"

Over the years, my skills at meeting new people have progressively grown more and more feeble, from being able to automatically be anyone's friend in grade school to an almost deathly fear of approaching new people, post-grad. I blame much of this on the high school years I wasted, solely socializing by computer, but at least I have learned a few valuable lessons from this, which may yet be useful in the future. When approaching someone new, for instance, reading a book clearly read only by the most fascinating of characters:

1. Have something to talk about.

Me: Hi, good book?
Complete Stranger: Yup.
Pause.
Me: Well, have a good one.

2. Don't over-think it.

Me: (in my head) Okay, there's someone sitting over there reading a big book. (S)he's clearly an intellectual. Good, we have that in common. I could go start a conversation and discuss... intellectual things. But would it be weird if I just walk up and start a conversation? Will I get told off? Maced perhaps? What if I exhaust the intellectual topic too quickly? What can I talk about besides, God forbid, the weather? Oh shit, (s)he's looking at me. Now I've blown it. I should go. But now (s)he's back on the book. Maybe that glance was an invitation? Maybe (s)he was admiring the pigeon over my shoulder? Shit... literally... Wiping off shoulder... Where was I? Oh God, how long have I been sitting here staring? I probably look like such a stalker right now. But I'm told I should seize every opportunity to talk to someone, because who knows, they may become my best friend or my link to the biz. Uh oh, (s)he's packing up. It's now or never. (outside my head) Hi, good book?
Complete Stranger: Yup.
Pause.
Me: Well, have a good one.

3. The longer you observe, the less likely they will want to talk to you.

Me: Hi, so I saw you were reading that book, and I was wondering what your thoughts are on Fermi's Paradox?
Complete Stranger: I dunno. I just started. You were watching me?
Pause.
Me: Well, have a good one.

4. Don't ask for someone's contact information if you haven't actually made a connection.

Me: Hi, good book?
Complete Stranger: Yup.
Pause.
Me: Well, have a good one.
After running into them much later...
Me: Hey, remember me? We were talking about your book earlier.
Complete Stranger: Oh hi.
Me: Hey, could I have your E-mail address?
Complete Stranger: No.
Me: Okay... Well, have a good one.

5. If someone actually shows an interest in talking with you, don't leave!

Me: Hi, good book?
Complete Stranger: Amazing! Have you ever heard of Fermi's Paradox?
Me: Yeah. (inside my head) Oh my God, I'm making an ass of myself again. What do I do? Better get out of here before I make the situation any worse. (outside my head) Well, have a good one.