When I was an older teenager, the social world was a complete mystery to me, but I didn’t know. Only by looking back, with the hindsight of autism, do I see all the mishaps and misunderstandings.
As a young twenty-something, things got worse and I did know—or at least, I knew that something was wrong. I would see collections of unremarkable young people roaming the streets together and I knew that, for some reason, that life of camaraderie and romance was not available to me. I kept calm and carried on.
By the time I went to West Africa as a Peace Corps Volunteer things were changing a bit. I managed to infiltrate the outer perimeters of the American trainee group, but my biggest progress was with the African teachers who were training us. We had some wonderful discussions.
Months later, in the village where I was posted as the lone American (or non-African, for that matter), I started becoming what I have called fully human. Africa was the only place after high school (or since) where I ran with a group of friends. Africans couldn’t spot the subtle quirks quite as easily as Americans. To them nearly every foreigner seemed a bit silly and odd, so I didn’t stand out. Also, I knew I had to learn a whole new set of social rules from scratch, and worked deliberately to do so.
Of course, it wasn’t all easy. My story about the doors shows that even in Africa I had a certain amount of social trouble, but those difficulties had little or nothing to do with being autistic.
Before my diagnosis I told a few people that it took me decades to learn to operate my hard to operate personality. That was true. I’m still learning. But it’s not really my “personality” that is difficult. What’s hard to navigate are the social rules, and cues, and expectations.
The first time I slept with a woman (girl) she had to start unbuckling my pants for me to understand what she wanted and what was happening.
More than fifty years later I’m a quicker study, but it’s still hard.
I still feel lost in social situations others seem to understand. I often feel confused. I’m alone way too much and too often. And because I’m autistic (and human) I ruminate over these things endlessly, as I’m doing here.
If you happen to find this and feel similarly, please comment and follow. We’ll do better together.
If you find me or another neurodivergent person a little hard to understand at times, remember: we’re foreigners in a land and culture we find bewildering. Instead of looking at us as odd, look at us as strangers in need of a hand.
