The Emotional Pendulum

Or, to put it more bluntly - aspies are moody.

Seriously moody. I mean, I can say that from the place of experience. I am an aspe, I live with an aspie, I've worked with aspies and, if the magic diagnostic thingamajig could go backwards in time, half of one side of my family would be aspies too.

Let me be more polite, though, for sensitive aspies and their delicate best beloveds. We'll say that aspies have an emotional pendulum. It can sway from one extreme to the other in what seems like a heartbeat and the aspie goes with it, clinging grimly to this pendulum, trusting it with everything, as Life flashes past in startling Technicolor.

The emotional pendulum is not like one on a grandfather clock - it doesn't have to choose between still and in regular motion, though it does often need an experienced hand to set it off in the right time again. It can splutter and falter in mid-swing, holding the aspie at a curious angle, unable to let go but terrified of the view.

It can stop in the middle, with emotions in a calm place. This seems good, I like this one. If I wasn't feeling so blooming calm, I would say I love this one. I like the way it feels not to be swinging from side to side, to be able to stand steady and look at the view without feeling I'm falling off a cliff.

Readers, when the pendulum stops in the middle and leaves me feeling flat and stable, I find it so restful.  I admit, everything is also kind of muted, as if I'm wearing special glasses, but I think I might prefer that too, to the alternative.

All too soon, though, it starts swinging again, set off by anything or nothing or simply the need for the human mind not to stagnate. Before very long, I'm clinging on, trying to close my eyes to the images flashing past as I wonder if I'll ever, ever get the hang of this to-ing and fro-ing.

I've met some people, non-aspies, who are nearly always calm. I've felt like studying them, which would possibly require a locked room and inadvisable methods. But I've been friends with some and they fascinate me. They've had trauma in their lives and moments of intense joy, yet they still have this calm exterior.

For a long time, I just assumed they didn't feel things the same way (the arrogance of youth!), then as time passed and I became more wise, I could see the truth behind their eyes, or hidden away in their words. I learned the value of emotional subtext and the important lesson that people don't reveal everything in the way they speak or act.

I gradually learned the amazing, terrible truth - some people can live their lives in a state of near-calm (at least compared to my own state) and this near-calm is their normal operating function! I mean, really? To learn there was such a thing was bad enough but to find out people can live like that is just mind-blowing.

Imagine, readers, not waking up, wondering what mood you'll be in today and whether your emotions will get you into high jinks again. Just imagine waking up and only thinking about what you have to do and it never occurring to you that you might not feel up to it, or you might throw a wobbly at the wrong moment. Imagine your emotions being your friends!

This was an epiphany for me and shaped the way I viewed myself as well as my relationships. The people I have most in mind are old neighbours of mine, a calm, happy, contented couple who would have belonged in a Dickens novel as the kindly friends who show the young hero how stable and happy life can be. Dickens liked calm and stable people, no matter how many grotesques he created. The good people could be eccentric, but the truly good were often serene, showing how they had achieved this state of goodness by not indulging in the diabolical deeds which others enjoyed.

My old neighbours showed me a different way of being happy, one which I always wished for myself. I wanted to be like them. I wanted what others might perceive as the 'boring' life of just being together, at the end of each day, in quiet conversation. I didn't realise at first, but what I really wanted was the gentle contentment.

To anyone who thinks high passion and grand gestures make a life more worthwhile, try having high passion and making grand gestures throughout your life, at the moments when a bit of steady thinking and a calm hand might have saved you a lot of trouble. It's all very well wanting excitement and drama, but in real life, especially the aspie life, these things come not when you want them but when they feel like coming.

More years down the line and my old neighbours further into the past, I've learned something else about myself. I'm too restless to be contented. This was a major disappointment but being truthful to yourself is very important so I've faced it head on. Much as I'd like to mimic my old neighbours, I'm not sure I could.

I can't even sit with a cat on my knee without having at least one other thing to do. I can't just be content with me and Custard, resting on the sofa. I have to turn on the TV and have the laptop suspended on the sofa arm at the same time. Then I can enjoy the cat on my knee. The only time I'm content doing just one thing is when I'm ill (the cats love it then).

It's in my nature, and in the nature of many an aspie, to be buzzing, mentally at least. Physically, that all depends on the individual aspie, but mentally, how many of us can just zone out? Properly, no cheating, no sidetracking, no listening for the slightest excuse to set off the brain again?

That's where the middle of the pendulum comes in. When it does stop, in the greyed-out area where everything is muted, I can relish it in a quiet way because the drama is off to the sides of me and not where I am. I can appreciate this quietness, drab as it may be, because the alternative is high emotion (or low emotion) of one kind or another. Even those times when I don't think I'm feeling high emotion and am just feeling anxious, that's also an emotional reaction caused by the almost-constant swing of the pendulum.

So, readers, when it does stop, I stop with it. Did you know, the pendulum stopping almost feels like I've climbed off it for a while. I haven't but I can kid myself that I have. For some time, I can draw in a deep breath and look out over the bleak landscape, enjoying the absence of vivid colour and activity. I can enjoy the slow, peaceful movement of grey clouds in the sky and feel the chill in the air, the clean, crisp scent of winter.

Sooner or later, the pendulum swings again and I go with it, not only clinging to it but also to my memories of the calmer times, when things become simple and muted. Closing my eyes for a second, I see the barren lands, then open them again and face the rush of life once more.

Amanda

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Behind the masks - are people really as they seem?

For as long as I can remember, I've hated masks. This could be because of watching Dr Who from a very early age. Masks and disguises counted for a lot in those early Dr Who episodes, as the BBC budget never stretched far and they needed to show the alien's differences. Usually, this difference was a threat, rather than a simple non-humanoid form. Behind the mask, or behind the differently-shaped face, was a monster. We all knew it, often well before the Doctor and his companion did. These aliens didn't need to be in a Dalek outer-shell to be ravenous beasts or evil super-villains.
Masks didn't have to be physical structures hiding the face either. They could be heavy make-up, meant to show different alien skin tones and features. Or they could be more subtle, the disguise of the person who is not who they are meant to be. And this is where it gets really scary.
For anyone who has watched Dr Who must agree with me here: for all the terrifying aliens and creatures that have graced our screens, one of the most deplorable, heartless, merciless, unsettling and revisited is The Master.
He may not have spiky fingers, green skin, a metal suit or a need to eat humans for supper, but he is more dangerous than these roving aliens because he always has a different agenda, a new reason to cause harm and he does it often because he can, not for a greater purpose.
What is more terrifying to a viewer, especially an aspie viewer, than someone who looks human and behaves like one but then is more evil and uncaring than many of the alien baddies? What does this tell the child watching the show?
It tells them that masks are not always visible, that people can be hiding behind a mask, even if you can see every bit of their face. That the greatest harm can be done by people you would pass in the street, without a second glance.
And the reason this idea is so frightening to children is because it makes us feel helpless. How can we know when danger is coming if we can't tell it apart from everything else? How are we meant to be able to see the tell-tale signs of a dark heart when the face looking back at us is as ordinary as our own?
In everyday life, we don't often meet people as evil as The Master, or anywhere close. Thankfully, we normally come across people whose worst trait is telling little white lies or being too impatient or not caring about the answer when they ask how you are. Aspies are used to people like this.
Then there are the ones who may do you harm, on a smallish scale. The gossip-mongers who sully your name, whether they have any ammunition or not. The ones who put in a bad word for you and diminish or destroy your opportunities. These people do you no good, and can make life very difficult indeed, but they're not waiting behind the sofa with the woodsman's axe.
The dangerous ones, the real bogeymen, we can do little about. The in-betweeners, the ones who smile to your face and immediately hurry off to do you harm, they are also outside our power to change. And the ones who just don't get us, or who snap when we don't get them, well, people are just people.
So why, given all the above, should masks, visible or invisible, be such a big deal still? If we can't do anything about them or the people who behave as if they live behind a false face, why should we worry?
Can we count the number of times our loved ones have said to us: take no notice, ignore them, put it out of your mind, don't let it get you down, don't be obsessive about it, why are you still thinking about that? And so on and so on.
Yes, we aspies are the ones who still, despite everything, don't expect people to wear masks. We don't expect them to behave differently to how they said they would, even when experience has taught us they might. We are still willing to trust that when someone says a thing, they will do a thing.
If we stop trusting someone, however, that trust is usually gone forever. We are not bearing useless grudges or clinging on to the past. Without a good reason for someone being false, we will often never trust them again. It's just the way it is. Our instincts, to take everyone at face value, have been beaten down by what people do, so if someone does lose our trust, they've had to do quite a lot to lose it in the first place. And, logically, they'll have to do even more to win it back. We have learned they cannot be trusted and once we learn something, it stays where we put it.
So, the mask idea is very, very important because to aspies, anyone who wears a mask is inherently untrustworthy. If we discover they're not who we thought they were, what's to stop them showing their other side again, in the future? Why should we risk going near them and being hurt again?
We also show a different face to the world than the one we hide inside. We've had to be what people expect us to be, so if someone behaves oddly or out of character and they have a reason for it, we can understand that. We can fathom certain reasons for not being who they say they are, if we've experienced those reasons for ourselves.
If someone is living behind the mask just because that's who they are, then we're going to have a full-on problem with that. They may not be a sci-fi super villain, or even a bad person, but they are not who they pretend to be; they are someone else and we don't know that other person, so how can we trust them?
Lack of trust inspires anxiety and fear, so not understanding why people behave the way they do, that inspires anxiety and fear too. And there we have it, turning a full circle: masks mean fear.
Readers, I'm not saying that we should be brutally honest all the time. I do believe that society has to have some oil to smooth the motions. If we were all like three year olds, shouting the truth no matter what, life could be quite trying. I really do understand that society as a whole, and individual people, need an element of privacy and mystery to function.
Whether that excuses the masks people wear is another matter. Perhaps to them and other non-aspies, they're just the same as I am when I'm trying to behave normally. Perhaps it's all a matter of degree and I've misjudged them.
I just feel that instincts are a powerful thing and, when understanding people and situations can be so tricky, as aspies we do learn to follow our instincts at times when other people would simply be talking about the weather.
This means that, if my instincts kick in and tell me someone is hiding their true nature, my first impulse is to vacate the scene, be it emotionally or physically. I'm naturally wary of anyone whose features can falter as their mask slips. Do I trust they have a good reason to be someone else, behind the mask? Or do I move on and keep myself safe?
I guess it all comes down to whether we see masks as a natural part of being human or not. If we don't, if we see them as a way to deceive the unwary, then the only natural part about masks is my need to stay right away from them!

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
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Aspies in Space

If aspies were in charge of a space ship, going on a super-important mission that meant life or death to everyone back on Earth, what do you think would happen? The fate of mankind hangs in the balance and the aspies have been chosen because, for whatever reason, they are immune to the catastrophe that has befallen the rest of the human race. Only we can save mankind, etc.

It would probably start well, with lots of good intentions and checklists. Aspies are often highly intelligent and the geekier ones would love the whole idea of living out the sci-fi dream. Yes, at last, we get to traverse the stars and meet robot overlords face to face. Finally!

Then the arguments would start about whose turn it was to press the trash-chute button. I can guarantee that something like this would be the first sign of instability. It would be nothing major. A small thing, the smell of uncompacted bananas mouldering behind the corridor wall would be enough to set it off.

Aspie Glen in sector 2 would deny it was his turn to press the button but Aspie Boot from sector 9 would have the job list to prove it was Glen's turn. Aspie Derek from sector 5, who had always wanted to look after the trash button, would wade in and make things worse by letting his latent jealousy get the better of him.

Aspie Susan from sector 1 would find a small tussle had broken out next to the trash button, with Glen repeatedly pressing the button to prove he was fine with doing it while Derek fought to reach the button and Boot did all he could to stop him reaching it, because it wasn't his job and it wasn't on the list.

Being the calming influence she is, Susan will immediately tell Glen he has now broken the button and they will all have to manually compact the trash, which involves a small bucket and a hand held macerator. Glen will start crying and go to his room.

Boot will have decided by now that the whole thing was Derek's fault and they won't speak for the next four years, until the time Boot finally discovers that Derek has the last surviving copy of Dungeon Keeper, as well as the appropriate cosplay gear.

Susan, content she has scared the living daylights out of them, will re-set the trash button and get rid of the smell of rotten banana. She will then forget to go back and finish what she was doing and the whole mission will fail because of it, leaving the Earth to whatever fate awaited it and meaning that the human race now consists of a space ship full of aspies, most of whom don't actually like each other and at least half of whom would prefer to mate with robot overlords anyway.

Yes, when it comes to saving the world and/or the universe, aspies will have the right idea but, for the most part, the wrong personality-type to get it done. For all that so many of us love things like Star Trek, you never found Captain Kirk obsessing over his RPG holographic unit - he only ever wanted the real-life experiences and very often got them.

Mr Spock, perhaps the one people may think of as a latent aspie with his coolness of demeanor and difficulty with emotions, was actually a highly efficient officer, always able to save the day and a counter-point to Kirk's unashamed lechery. Spock was just cool, people, he wasn't an aspie. He had control of his emotions, he wasn't repressed.

If Mr Scott had been the aspie, there would never have been anyone to refuse to push the engines a little harder or to hand out the malt whisky. He would have given in and pushed the engines too hard, the ship would have exploded or broken and he would be permanently drunk, as a reaction to the stresses of life.

The true aspie in the equation was always Dr McCoy. He hated the transporters, even though he knew how they worked and why they wouldn't vaporise him. He was argumentative and fond of telling people what he would and wouldn't do. He was always speaking inappropriately to Spock, pointing out his physical and emotional attributes. And given any encouragement at all, he fell in love (without the lechery) and then, usually, the lady in question would die or turn into a monster.

So, you see, to be successful the space ship has to have non-aspies in abundance, with only one aspie to spice things up. Isn't that right? Isn't life like that?

To function, do we need more non-aspies than aspies? Do we need aspies to be in safe places, away from buttons that operate more than the trash? (Does anyone else know they would push a big red button, no matter what it did, if they had to stand near it for long enough?)

I would like to say that aspies could save the world on the illustrious space ship. I would love to promise you that we wouldn't be petty enough to make the mission fail because we fell out over little disagreements. I would also like to attest that a mass gathering of aspies, forced to live together, would not fall into anarchy. Actually, no, I can definitely attest to that one as anarchy requires a sustained level of action and rising up against something. Come on, we're not going to manage that one.

I think, given the right support, we'd be pretty happy on the space ship, though. So long as we didn't hold the fate of the world in our hands and didn't always have fights over the trash buttons. Imagine, floating through the stars, surrounded by technology and only the quiet peace of computers doing all the organised, methodical, attention-to-detail stuff on our behalf.

Perhaps, if the human race was reduced to a ship full of aspies, we could make a decent go of it. There would be hiccups along the way, but with the right checks and balances and no enormous red buttons linked to self-destruct mechanisms, we would probably be okay.

Also, we would always, always be ready to believe the impossible and so would never be surprised by what space threw at us. Sentient goo? Naturally. Brains as big as planets? Why not? A peaceable race of aliens that wants to be our friends and invites us onto their planet?

Are you kidding? We'd never fall for that one!

Amanda

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The socially awkward aspie

Okay, why not just say that most aspies are shy? And that the ones who aren't are the exception/ Would it be truer than saying aspies are socially awkward?

I'm not convinced. I am shy, I always have been, but plenty of people are shy without being on the spectrum. My son, when he was young, was the opposite of shy. Sometimes, I would have preferred him to be a bit shy and less likely to burst into groups of people, ready to make friends, no matter what.

Is it truer then, to say aspies are socially awkward rather than simply shy? NO, it isn't. Let me be firm about this: being socially awkward is totally different from being shy or from being too extroverted. I can prove it.

Let's see. If you're shy, you don't feel comfortable making new friends as you worry how they will behave and you don't know what to say. But once you've made friends, you're not shy anymore because you feel comfortable now and don't need to worry as much.

If you're socially awkward, you can still make friends but that won't stop you behaving inappropriately or oddly the next time you see them. You may be friends, but you'll still ask them why they had such a bad hair cut or you'll get distracted and peel the stickers off their brand new bag.

As aspies, we often hit the jackpot in social relationships because we're usually socially awkward to begin with, then shy on top of that. Imagine it, readers, not only do we have the talent to offend without trying, we can also do it at the same time as dying a thousand deaths because we have to speak in public! How extraordinarily interesting we are!

As for the extroverted aspie, it seems that being socially awkward is even more exciting for them than the shy aspie. At least the shy aspie has some chance of not showing themselves up as mostly they daren't speak or interact anyway, so they don't have the opportunity. The extrovert, though, has ample opportunity and makes great use of it.

As I've said, when my son was small, he loved to make friends. If he was going somewhere for the first time, he had a habit of entering the room, his top half hunkered down, arms swinging and gorilla noises coming out of him. It was an easy way for everyone in the room to see him at the same time. He would then straighten up, laugh and run into the group, usually tickling people on their faces as he passed.

I have to admit, this unconventional method made him plenty of friends. Little boys love this kind of thing and it was a shortcut to helping him find out quickly which children would be friends with him. Also, it made it easier for me, his ultra-shy mother, to enter the room with him as all eyes were on him instead of me.

As an adult extrovert, most aspies don't subscribe to the animal impressions or face tickling. Perhaps this is a mistake as it would probably still work as a way to quickly sort friend from foe. Extroverts have their outgoing personalities on show and, logically, they also show their awkwardness too. If someone doesn't mind who they speak to and isn't always worrying about what they say, then it soon becomes apparent if they start to do or say things outside the norm.

There is a man who works as a salesman in a shop near here. He's extremely sociable and it would never occur to him not to speak or make conversation with customers. They probably have to lock him in the back room when it comes time for his break. He's a very good salesman, if you don't mind the wall of friendliness that descends on you when he approaches.

I'm not too happy with personal-space invaders, but I must admit I knew of him at school and his personality has always burst into a room ahead of him. I was in the shop one day when he wanted to help a very cultured looking middle-aged lady. He bellowed across the shop at her, to ask if he could help. She flinched and told him she wanted to make a payment for something.

He rushed to the other end of the counter, where the card machine was and patted it hard, saying to her, 'Come on! Come over here then!', for all the world like she was the family dog at tea-time. She blinked at him, her eyes bright with shock and her face rigid. Then, because he has the sort of personality you don't ignore, she went and she paid.

It would never have occurred to him that she might be offended by his approach. He had no intention of upsetting her and only wanted to help, but on the surface he appeared loud and brash. She probably came away wondering why she hadn't spoken up to him.

I use this man as an example of how an extroverted personality can still be socially awkward - as well as unaware of the fact. It's a happier state than the perennially fretful shy aspie, who always wants to do things right but is hampered from doing anything at all.

The trouble with aspies, shy or extrovert, is that they have the full potential to do the wrong thing, in word or deed, but only some ability to recognise when they have done it. It's no wonder that worry becomes so familiar! Imagine not knowing when you've done or said the wrong thing, even when someone has pointed it out to you? It's like learning new rules, except the rules are always changing so you can never keep up.

And that's what it's like: constantly changing rules. To a non-aspie, the rules of social behaviour are learned and then become obvious, so that if they do end up making a mistake, they know what it was. To an aspie, each occasion is different and can only be viewed from what we have learned so far. We can hope that the situation is similar enough to a past one so that we know what to do and say, but then if things change or we get confused, the past situation no longer seems relevant and we're on our own again.

Rules learned once are stored, as much as possible. It's just tricky fitting the rules in our heads to the life being lived in front of us. It's like playing snap with a lightning-quick ten year old - you know you're never, ever going to win but you have to play.

It's impossible to match up the rules with the situation quickly enough to make them work. Half the time, it's guess-work. If the situation is simple or very familiar, then it should be fine. If it's an unfamiliar situation or it seems stressful, then we can't always remember the right rules, at least not in time for them to be useful.

This goes some way to explaining why quite a few aspies are very well-mannered. It's been said that aspies can seem old-fashioned in their manners. That's because manners can be learned, the rules are pretty simple. When someone does something for you, you thank them. When they thank you for something, you say 'you're welcome'. When you want something, you say please.

If you appreciate how aspies can learn these rules, then you see why we stick to them so closely. We know we can do these ones, we have these down. It falls apart slightly if we have to thank you for something we didn't want, as a thwarted alligator would be more genuine, but we still say it.

I use the same approach to help me through social situations that are more demanding. Always have manners, you see, as they help enormously. So, at the checkout or when meeting new people (yikes!), I can make small talk because it's polite to do that. I sometimes struggle for a subject, as my brain likes to slot in inappropriate conversation-starters, but if I can keep an eye on that tendency, then it's pretty easy to chat.

I've seen people look surprised when I talk to them. I think it's because, before I opened my mouth, I probably looked quite severe and serious - intimidating, even. They didn't know that the reason for my expression was the concentration it took for me to have a run at speaking to them and also, the thought involved in everyday living.

What I do like is that people respond when you chat. These days, it's not that common for strangers to have little conversations and people usually enjoy it if it happens. I also come away with a new sense of accomplishment because I've spoken to someone I didn't know and made them smile. It helps the day go well and it also helps to remember these times when the day goes down the drain, along with the house key.

There's no solution to being socially awkward, except for learning rules that help, rather than trying to learn rules for every situation. We have to accept that we're never going to fit perfectly into general society - there's always going to be a slight squeezing sound as we struggle to slip through the gaps in the fence while everybody else uses the gate.

Now, years after realising I didn't quite fit, I take heart from the fact that there are many other people who don't fit either, and some of them are my brightest and best friends. It doesn't matter if we get it wrong, we just have to move on and try not to dwell on the temporary mortification of the moment.

We can be different and also social, even the shyest of us. All it takes is practice and a belief that there will always be people who are willing to open themselves up to us and be our friends, even if we never meet them again.

To corner-hiders and face-ticklers everywhere, thank you for reading my blog and please visit again!

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!

We all have to live in the real world

Don't we? Do we? Well, unless we have a very undemanding sugar daddy or rich parents, then yes, we do have to live in the real world. It all comes down to money and, whether you go out to work or are on benefits, there are things you must do to afford life itself.

I genuinely think if money wasn't an issue, then lots of aspies would be a lot happier. Imagine them, roaming the fields and glens, at large, free range aspies, their happy little faces beaming under a soft sun. No money to earn, no bills to keep an eye on, no constant worry that they've forgotten to pay the rent. Yes, I like the idea of aspies roaming free and easy. Their groups would never be big, if they came together at all. You would just see them, keeping a safe distance from one another, respecting personal space and daydreaming their way through life.

Still, we'd get bored soon enough. No, honestly, we would. The same applies for those aspies who are quite happy free ranging at home, in front of the computer. If you had absolutely no calls on your time and were expected to veg out, you would be bored.

Except, there's the secret, readers. Aspies, despite appearances, very rarely do nothing. Rather like my manic collies, even at rest the brain is active. The aspie may seem serene or lazy, depending on your point of view, but they are a-buzz with activity on the inside. So, given the chance to be free range, without responsibilities, I think we'd get along very nicely, thank you.

Here's the rub, though. If we could live life following our own interests, boredom would be a thing of the past, something experienced when we had to work for a living. We would be pursuing our favourite thing of the moment, or our long-standing obsession. We would be content.

There would be none of the stress of day to day living. None of the routines we have to impose to get ourselves out of the door, dressed and in one piece. None of those moments when you shock yourself, suddenly feeling you're meant to be somewhere else doing something important. No need to call people, or text them, to check whether you have forgotten. No worries about turning up at the wrong place and being embarrassed because everyone but you knew about it.

In the real world, though, we often need to do all these things just to make a living. Usually, we don't have anyone to pay the bills. And if we did, it would be a rare person indeed who didn't come to resent the aspie for not doing anything productive while they had their bills paid. Lots of aspie endeavours involve much thought and sitting down - it's just the way it is - and to the non-aspie mind, thinking and sitting down do not constitute a valuable use of our time.

So, yes, let's assume we all have to live in the real world. We have to earn money or be given money to survive. We have to learn the fundamentals of survival in a world that needs cash or card to function.

Just suppose, though, if this wasn't so. I don't mean with the replacement stress of someone paying for everything, then breathing down your neck to see what you do with your time. And I don't mean those times when you might have to live off benefits, as that can be far more stressful than going to work by the time you've kept up with your side of the bargain - filling in forms, talking to lots of unsympathetic people, proving you need the money, then proving it again at very regular intervals.

I mean, what if we didn't need money at all or it wasn't what we used to pay for things? Yes, a Utopian ideal and one with its own problems. Let's be simple about it, though. From an aspie point of view, a society without this need to pay in only one way would be a gift. Our talents, whatever they may be, are often genuine talents. Also, they are often talents undervalued by a society that needs people to go out to work in great groups, doing the same things every day, in order to keep everything moving on a grand scale.

The aspie, by dint of their personality and particular talents, is very, very rarely suited to doing work that most people can do. Their talents are often based around solitary activity, misunderstood as 'messing about', irrelevant or unimportant. If the aspie could be recognised as having a valuable talent, a talent worthwhile for its own sake and not just its monetary value, how different would things be?

With the stress of needing to do things for money, which often means you need to do a lot more work or spend more time on what you enjoy than is comfortable, the aspie is less likely to be able to live off their talents. If money was removed and worth measured in a different way, how valuable might the aspie's time and talents become?

Yes, this is definitely an ideal, isn't it? The aspie would still be the aspie and there would be days, even weeks or months, when using their talents became impossible because the rotten old brain threw a wobbly and then took time to get back on track. Yet still, even taking into account that we are always ourselves, it is an appealing idea, that you can live from doing what you enjoy.

Here's the important bit, readers. I am not yet living off doing what I enjoy, but I'm nearly there. Very nearly. If I could put in more hours and not go mad, then I would very happily live off it. It took me years to understand that work could also be something I might be good at, that it didn't have to be an endless round of suffering and defeat.

Steadily, building self-confidence as I go, I have managed to incorporate more and more of what I am good at into my daily working life. This means that the magic formula of money+talent=life is achievable. It really is.

It doesn't happen overnight and, if you're like me, even the idea of waiting for anything can drive you crazy. But looking back I can see that it was vital for me that it didn't all happen at once, as I wouldn't have coped.

Readers, today is the 6th year anniversary of the day I started using my talents to make money. I made the decision to have a go at using my writing skills to make a living and so, terrified and literally shaking, 6 years ago I sat in my mother's front room, waiting for my first students to arrive.

It turned out they expected me to know what I was talking about and they kind of expected me to be eccentric, so I pretended to be confident and jumped straight in. I wonder if any of them guessed the shivers that went through me every week as their cars pulled up outside? Or how much of a relief it was to meet the wonderful Isaac, ex-haulage contractor, who decided to try writing in his retirement and could hold a room captive with his hilarious monologues. Thank you, Isaac, you helped me so many times by taking the attention away from little old me, quivering in the big chair.

From this tentative starting point I branched out to giving English lessons and school workshops (the terror). I remember how hard it was when I first had two lessons, one after the other, as I was so unused to working intensely for any length of time.

A few years after that I would have evenings full of lessons, one after the other, with the only break the car journeys in between. That was hard but not impossible. It was so important though, for me to build up to this stage gradually, finding my feet and paying attention to what I could manage and how I could organise myself. Every lesson learned is a valuable one.

Readers, there is no magic fix to help you use your talents to earn the great and powerful money. This one is up to you and also up to the people who know you best. If you're unsure what you could do, ask others. You might get some narky replies along the lines of 'try working for a living', but you should also hear some interesting, possible revelatory, responses. Sometimes, you really need other people to lay things out for you before you can see them for yourself.

Do try, though. It's tempting to think you've tried it all before or considered all the angles and found no solutions. Life changes us as we move through it, so it's always worth revisiting what we might think of as old ideas, to see if they can be made new.

In the end, it's up to you to decide if something is possible. It might be that it's a little bit possible, just a teeny bit. Take it and see what happens. That small beginning might lead to other things, even if they aren't what you expect. At the very least, we all need some adventures in our lives, even if they are very small ones.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!

Didn't you think of that before?!

How many times have I been asked this question? I expect it's a question most aspies are familiar with. You do something, long or short term, it doesn't matter, and before you know it - wham! It's gone wrong and there is always someone willing to come forward and say, 'Didn't you think of that before?'

The situation is irrelevant, as is the calamity which ensues. All that matters, at that moment, is the implied criticism. No, of course you didn't consider the full consequences of your actions. If you had, would we all be standing here in the ruins of yet another plan?

Ahem. Well, if we're completely honest, we might admit that we did think a little bit of it might be possible. We're not complete fools, we do plan ahead quite regularly. But that doesn't mean we expected the pitfall to actually happen. We might have been able to take into account that it might; we just never thought it would. Do you see the difference?

With the kind of aspie mind-control we seem to believe we possess, we looked into the future and saw the whole thing as a glorious success. Like Picard, we only needed to raise our finger and say, 'Make it so!' for it to happen. It always slips our minds that things running smoothly is something that generally happens to other people, not to mention the fact that Picard had as many takes as he needed to get everything right first time.

So, when the ever-helpful person asks us if we didn't see it coming, we are never going to admit that we might have. Usually, we'll have forgotten we did consider any downsides or consequences by this time anyway. And if we remember them, why invite even more embarrassment by admitting to it?

In unguarded moments, I have admitted to seeing possible mishaps, but decided to risk it anyway. You know, when you forget all the other times things went wrong and people pointed it out. Those instances when your guard is down and you feel able to admit that you did wonder if it would go wrong.

Oh dear, what a mistake that always is! Cue the eye-rolling, the hand-flapping, the exaggerated body language. No, not from the aspie, you understand, but from whichever trusted person we were honest with.

What started as generalised and implied criticism over how things have turned out becomes very specific criticism, mixed with stage-subtle disbelief when we admit we foresaw trouble and jumped regardless.

It seems that admitting you may have been wrong earlier than this point, at a stage when you could still have called it all off, is an open invitation to be jumped up and down on by people who think you should have known better. It's aspie open season once you agree that you did think of this before.

After all, if you did see it coming, why did you carry on? What madness possessed you? What is the point of having that quirky but intelligent head on your shoulders if all you do with it is nod, sorrowfully, when things go wrong? Did it not occur to you to stop before it was too late?

I don't think any of us would risk all-out honesty at this stage. My own response, once I learned some sense, has always been to accept that I've messed up (again) and try to move on. It's no good taking hold of the shovel and digging yourself an even bigger hole.

If I was honest, and if you were honest, we would admit that yes, we saw it coming, Yes, we saw the disadvantages. Yes, we saw the possible calamity awaiting us. And yes, despite all of that, we did it anyway. And no, we aren't completely mad, we just thought it would be okay. Why? Well, because we hoped it would be and we could imagine it being okay, so, logically, it follows that it probably was going to be okay.

I know, logic doesn't really belong in that kind of argument, but it often strolls in anyway, looking dapper in its long coat for best, wearing that slightly smug smile that everyone hates, but we love. Yes, it wasn't technically logical to believe everything would be all right no matter what, but in our hearts, we love logic so much we believed we could make it happen.

Non-aspies might be grimly familiar with this scenario, wondering how we don't learn from our past mistakes. Things have gone wrong so frequently that it does defy belief that we'd be willing to get it wrong again, and often on a grand scale. Then we have the temerity to take exception to a little bit of criticism! I mean, it's the non-aspies and best beloveds who have to sort it all out once we've finished making our magic, so they are entitled to having a small dig, aren't they?

Humph. Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know about the rest of you aspies, but I do hate that people feel they have the right to point out our failings. It's not as if we don't know about them, is it? And at least we have a go, you know, instead of just playing it safe all the time. The told-you-so brigade can fettle that kettle, while they're at it!

No, let's face it, the real reason we can't take this (often justified) criticism is because we know you are right. There, I've said it. You are right and we are wrong. We did it again.

This time, though, it might have been different. It might have worked out and a great and new and wondrous thing would have been let loose across the earth, for all to see and feel uplifted by. Or at the very least, the toilet might have stayed unblocked long enough for the bathroom to be safe.

We try, you see. again and again, we try and hope that it will turn out all right. Our ideas may  be off course and strangely skewed, but they're pretty fabulous ideas half the time. You have to admit, if it had worked, it would have been great!

Just remember, aspie and non-aspie, that we don't do these things to make life horrible or awkward. And we certainly don't do them so we can have someone stand at our shoulder, tutting.

We do them because sometimes they do work and someday we will set the world alight. We just have to keep trying and trying often means thinking of the consequences and doing it anyway.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!

Real life is looming

Yes, next week I'm going back to work. I like what I do, even if some days are better than others. Sometimes, I love what I do. And alongside the money-making endeavours, I'm also looking forward to getting stuck into the writing again. So, why am I feeling hemmed in all of a sudden?

It happens every year. I look forward to being off for Christmas and promise myself that, the next year, I'll have time off during another holiday, instead of just having two weeks at Christmas. Don't get me wrong there - I'm not worked to the bone like some Victorian housemaid who only has Sundays off and half a day every other Wednesday. I work part-time, self-employed and don't work weekends anymore.

Except, if that was all I did, there wouldn't be any problem. But like so many other adults in the sandwich generation, I am the middle tier of a family with teenage children and an elderly parent. I have my own household to run, the usual problems to sort out, as well as the many and various problems that crop up with an elderly parent.

So, on a normal working day I drag my sorry self out of bed, drag even sorrier teenagers out of bed, get them sorted for college, organise the ranged cats and dogs, do the college run, come home and have a peaceful breakfast. This is usually the time of day I do my blog, in the quiet house with only myself to look after.

During the day there are other things to do, all related to the responsibilities outlined above. From 3 p.m. onwards I'm back on the college run and then I go to work. It varies, so some nights I'll be finished by 7 and when I'm busier, it's after 9.

I'll come home, having had to go to the shop on the way, eat a late supper, watch TV for too long, fall into bed, occasionally sleep and then repeat.

Somewhere along the line I try to write fiction and non-fiction, though I have to say, if I do get any done, it feels like quite an achievement!

The Christmas break is my time for relaxing and doing as little as possible. I've done so much of this that I'm now having to avoid feeling guilty over how many Miss Marple episodes I've watched in the past week. And I don't need to tell you where all the Christmas biscuits went.

It's been so nice, not having to be anywhere or remember to be anywhere.

Now, unfortunately, real life looms and I have to get my semi-working brains out of the bauble box so that I can get back into the swing of things next week. I'm already dreading the teens going back to college as I'm a sucker for having my kids at home, but I know they'll revel in seeing their friends again.

I'm just about, by the skin of my teeth, avoiding the January blues. As a Christmas lover, I do hate January. It's almost a cosmic law that I have to hate it, because it's the furthest point from the next Christmas. It's also full of people with good intentions and new plans, all with lots of enthusiasm for the year to come. I do find other people's boundless enthusiasm hard to stomach.

Let's face it, what I'm really not looking forward to is going back out into the world at times and days to suit my responsibilities. It won't be so bad, I'm not as busy as I've been in other years, but it will be a jolt after doing my own thing for a while.

I'm pretending to myself that it doesn't matter, you see, when it actually does. I'm being bright and jolly (as much as possible) with other people. I'm talking about normal things and seeing what the teens need to do before they go back to college. I'm already talking about work and planning ahead.

All the while, I must confess, the real me is not joining in. The real me is so not pleased, it isn't true. I am really sitting in a corner, sulking, still wearing my party hat. I have my arms folded and a grimly determined expression on my face. I will not be organised! I will not be ready! You can't make me so I won't do it!

Yes, I'm a properly sulky aspie about it. Why should I start being sensible again? Why should I plan ahead before I need to? It'll be fine if I just leave it. I don't want to think about it until I have to and I don't have to, not yet.

Except, I do. This is Saturday night. After tomorrow, it will be Monday. I start work properly on Tuesday but the teens start college on Monday and I have a lot of things I need to do before Tuesday, so really, Monday is the beginning of my back to work phase.

It doesn't matter how much I sulk or pretend to myself, the new year has happened and it's travelling along at its usual speed. I can't ignore it. That's why I act as people expect - ready and glad to be facing working routines again. If I can't change the thing, I may as well behave like it's okay, in the hopes that it will become okay by default.

Really, the problem I have is that the real me isn't just sulking. That's a front. So, behind the front of the cheerful me is the sulky aspie. Behind the sulky aspie is a worried looking woman, staring at her hands as she thinks everything through. And behind her? What lays behind the pretence, the sulking and the worry?

I think what lays at the very heart of it all is Fear. Being at home, watching my beloved Miss Marple and not worrying about the time or the day, that is the opposite of always having to know what time it is, what needs doing, what has been done, where I need to be. I fear that level of organisation and the side of me which must come forward to take charge of it all.

I fear having to be the responsible one. There is no one else to do it and no one should have to do it for me. All these things are my own responsibilities and I take care of them and do them because they're for the people I love. It's right that I should do them.

It's also right that I should feel fear because it's the pressure that looms with the new year. I know it's there, waiting for me to come out and play. Like an unwanted party guest, it never comes in, only stands by the gate and waits until you have to pass by. You can never avoid it for long, it's always going to be there.

Sometimes it doesn't matter what I have to do, and sometimes it really matters a lot and I can't cope. The new year is like opening the door on all of that. I don't know what it will bring but I do know what went before. I need to be here again, do what I must and face what I can.

From Monday, no more relaxing with Miss Marple, no more biscuits and no more ignoring the calendar. The working week starts in just over a day, the working year starts with it.

The best thing I can say is that, as usual in January, I have plans afoot to make it better and more interesting. This year, there are things I can achieve without needing to change my personality first, so I do feel more hopeful this time.

This year will be the first year since I was very much younger that writing will play a greater part in my working life than anything else. That's why, for once, I have some of the excitement within me that usually belongs to people who love new year. I haven't made new year resolutions, I haven't set myself impossible challenges. What I have done is look at what I can do and what I enjoy doing, then worked out how they can be combined.

So, allow me some small excitement, especially as it waylays the fear. Next week, I still need to be the grown up who knows where all the socks are and remembers to buy food for packed lunches. As well, though, there will be a newly-awakened schoolgirl part of me, the one who thought she would spend her whole life writing stories and everything would be okay.

Here's hoping everything will be okay, in the simple way that we used to look at things. One way or another, readers, let it be okay and let us have excitement for the future. In the words of a very great philosopher and friend to the outcast and misunderstood:

"This frog has to go his own way
This frog doesn't care what the other frogs say
This frog wants to be happy, and this frog has to try
This frog is gonna make it or know the reason why
I'm not gonna sit here like some dumb old bump on a log
That isn't me!
I'm gonna be this frog!"

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!