Sweet Animation Fixation

I have a confession to make. See, lately, I’ve been venturing off to this fantastic, alternate universe… where baby ducks karate chop rattlesnakes, and viral video stars are held captive in the sky, and somehow I find myself rockin’ out to Kenny Loggins. But don’t be alarmed, its all good. Yeah… I’ve gotten hooked on Regular Show.

I’ve obsessed over many a cartoon before. Back in the day, it was I who was mad for Ren and Stimpy. Then, I went totally insaney for Animaniacs. And most recently, I went pure wild animal crazy over Fantastic Mr. Fox. But it’s more of a joy, this kind of obsession. It sneaks up and pounces. I wonder sometimes, where does it come from? How does it find me?

Regular Show, as they say, is anything but. It tends to leave me cheering at my TV. It is culturally literate, imaginative, nostalgic, utterly ridiculous, and so, so quotable. It stars one of the all time great animated duos in Mordecai and Rigby, whose genuine if dysfunctional friendship is the kind we wish we all had. The Regular universe is the creation of one JG Quintel, who writes, draws, and voice-acts, and I have no doubt this creator-driven quality is what makes the toon so good.

So where does my obsessive joy come in? I think it’s when I start finding this fantasy world and its characters living inside my head, insinuating itself into my daily life. The workday doldrums are so much more bearable, picturing my boss as a gumball machine, and threatening that if I don’t get back to work, I’m SO UNBELIEVEABLY FIRED!!! Ah. Try it. It’s so much fun.

From little moments like that, my fixation grows. Soon, all is just right with the world. Obsession, at its best, is a natural high. Like riding a wave of exuberance. A feeling of coming home, when I didn’t even realize I left. My inward buzz can’t help but manifest itself outwardly, and other people take notice.

“You sound much more jolly these days!” my friend said to me the other day. What, me, jolly? But it’s true, I am. Truth be told, there are other things in my life making me happy right now. But life just becomes more fun, when I’m obsessed.

Maurice Sendak appeared on the Colbert Report recently. “Why write for children?” the pundit asked the legendary author and illustrator. “I don’t write for children,” he retorted. “I write! And somebody says, ‘That’s for children!’”

Art that finds devoted fans is often created without intention to please an audience. The artist who is true to himself doesn’t choose his audience, it chooses him. I see this personal quality in Regular Show, as I did in Ren and Stimpy, which was also a creator-driven show. I try my best to follow that principle in my own work. I don’t write for Aspies. I write and I doodle for myself, and you wonderful people come along and say “That’s for me!”

Still, as personal as my creations are, I share them. Art brings us together, even more so in the digital age. I love being able to touch others with my drawings and words, to invite you into some fantastic inner universe uniquely my own.

A word about bronies, if I may. Here’s a community created around a cartoon, that has now crossed over from internet meme to veritable social movement. I work for a children’s charity, and earlier this week, a Brony Society contacted me. They offered to fundraise for us as their community service project, by shoveling sidewalks and collecting donations. I had to smile, and think, “What fine, civic-minded adults, brought together by their obsession over ponies.” I can never diss the Bronies again. They’re good people. I tell you, cartoons… they’re good for us.

One more quality of cartoons that inspires fascination: their spontaneity. The nuances they express with ease that words alone cannot. Exploding with immediacy upon the page or the screen, the pencil captures inspiration for posterity, like lightning in a bottle. A little piece of the artist that lives on forever. As Ian Frazier of The New Yorker says:

“A cartoon is a remark made by hand and eye instead of breath… that doesn’t vanish in an instant but remains its original spontaneous self indefinitely… The more you examine it, the better you see its live, black-on-white drawn lines vibrating forever like just-plucked strings.” Not so far fetched, is it, obsessing over a cartoon?

So, maybe that’s where my joy comes from. I dunno. Probably best to not to think about it too much. Better to call it magic, and sit back and enjoy.

But this much I know: I love escaping inside the universe of Regular Show. Maybe some of you like crawling inside my weird universe too. So go ahead, find your own obsession. It just might do you good. Cause it’s not just the children who need a good bedtime story. Hm! Hm!

The Gift of Adventure

I have been thinking about this post from thautcast: The Best Gifts for Autistic People: Experiences.

The very best gift you can give any autistic person, especially a child, is an experience.

It is especially important to take kids with autism out into the real world to see and interact with real things...

[T]hey can be especially challenging for us. We can be especially challenging during them.

But we need to go...

These experiences, the ones that give us the world and help us find our place in it, are the gifts we need most.

Please give them to us.

This rings very true for me. I don’t need a lot of stuff. I am saving for a tablet, but what matters most to me at this point is experiences.

Recently I had a memorable travel experience, which I was all but forced to go on. I attended a house party this summer, because my friend invited me. I've had to drag myself into many adventures, some that I was glad to have, and others that were not so successful.

The best gift I could get for myself this holiday would be an experience. What are your suggestions for adventures I can give myself?

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!

Here's A Little Post I Wrote. (You Might Want to Read It Note for Note)

Does anyone worry more than an Aspie?

We worry in everyday situations. In the supermarket checkout, did I get everything I needed? Will I attract attention for holding up the line? At work, will my presentation go smoothly? Did I get that phone message right? Meeting someone for an activity, will they show up, and will we have anything to talk about?

Tony Attwood has said Aspies are very good at worrying, pessimism, and generalized anxiety. He notes that 25% of adult Aspies have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Our anxiety can come in many types – performance, PTSD from being teased or bullied, sensory, social, or controlling and oppositional.*

Worries can get out of control when we don’t have an adequate support network. When a worry becomes overwhelming, we must figure out whether this is an issue worth seeking advice on. If so, the next problem is how, and with whom, to start a conversation about our worry. Social media and pen pals can be a lifeline. If we didn't have these things, we might keep our worries to ourselves.

I have faced many worries in the past year, and moved ahead in spite of them. I worried I wouldn’t find a new job, but I did. I worried I wouldn’t be social at a party, but I was. Yet, I never seem to learn not to worry the next time. A lifetime of data points telling me worry is useless, but I keep on ignoring the evidence.

A friend pointed out to me that two weeks after I worried about being myself, I was giving advice to my readers to do exactly that. Yeah, I know, I contradict myself. “No, no,” she said, “I was happy how the original stressed you turned into the excited you. Advice is only personal and changes based on our experiences.”

Mark Twain said, “I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.” Indeed, much of the worst in life is, in fact, the worrying. The uncertainty, the what ifs, the things that never become reality.

Leo Buscaglia said, “Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.” True dat.

What would it feel like to be free of worry? How much more would I appreciate the good things, if I stopped worrying about the bad things that never happened? How much healthier would I be, if I stopped worrying about sicknesses I never had? I had a taste of the worry-free life while I was on vacation, but soon enough I was back to my old ways.

Steve Jobs said, “You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

I am not sure I can trust my future dots. I am not sure I can stop worrying. I would like to – it would be the single best thing I could do for myself, and would not cost a thing. If it were only possible.

How do you deal with your worries? What do you trust in?

* Tony Attwood, “Making Friends and Managing Feelings”, 10/20/10

Suspend Disbelief

I have been on the adventure of a lifetime.

In the morning, I’ve risen before the sun, awakening to the stillness, the lapping of the water below, the calls of birds, and the distant tolling of the harbor bell.

In the evening, I’ve sat by the fire, detached from my electronic gadgets and not missing them, instead having conversations, and playing cards.

I've seen water so blue, it stops you in your tracks, unable to avert your eyes.

I’ve been to the top of a mountain where the wind stuns, and the mist hangs in plumes at eye level.

I’ve soared over the water aboard a speedboat, along the coast, the ocean spray against my face, past seals, birds, and sailboats, all cares melted away.

I’ve ventured to a tiny island, completely removed from civilization, exploring with careful steps from rock to rock, an otherworldly place all to myself, knowing I would never return to.

I have seen paradise, I’m quite sure.

All because four months ago, I let my old reality burn.

Ten days ago, I returned from a stay in Northeast Harbor, Maine, with my ten co-workers. This was a staff retreat, at my new job. The one I took after I was laid off. The one I accepted with uncertainty, but with a good gut feeling. The one where I had just begun to settle into a new routine and new culture.

One door closes and another opens, I wrote four months ago. But who in their wildest dreams could have expected this? You just never know, when you take a job, what it might lead to, how it might change your life.

As the Asticou jetted along the water under picture perfect skies on a Monday afternoon, I was awestruck simply to be right here, right now. I marveled at the chain of events that fell into place to make this possible. So unlikely, and yet it was happening. I sat and soaked in the constant whirr and vibration of the boat, the wind and the ocean spray, wearing a stupid silly grin. I just couldn't help it. Because instead of sitting at my office desk in Chadds Ford, PA, I was miles and miles away, seeing this,

and this,

and this.

We took the retreat for team building, and it was undoubtedly a success. There was no curriculum. There was no Power Point. We grew as a team naturally, over the five days, by cooking our meals together, navigating our way in the van, and finding fun things to do. We could be people, not co-workers, and so we got to know each other as people.

I talked at length about Asperger's one night, over appetizers of smoked salmon and crackers, at a restaurant called Red Sky. Peppered with questions, I was happy to answer. I coined a classic phrase, "more time and data points." But one question surprised me:

"How come you don’t ask us questions about our lives? Is it because you’re not interested?"

Oh! I didn't realize. Of course I am interested in you, I explained. I learn about you by listening, observing, and asking when I feel the time is right. Please don't be offended if I don't ask. And on and on, we continued to learn from each other.

I wrote back in May:

It can be hard to find guideposts as that reality shifts and reshapes, but I need only remember to be myself, and be proud of who I am, as a person with Asperger’s. If I can do that, I am sure to emerge stronger from this crisis.

I think I have followed this advice, and I think I have emerged stronger. This week you may have read the story of Justin Canha, who found his place in the workplace. I have found mine as well. Even before we went on this amazing trip.

If you’re on the spectrum and job seeking, my advice to you is to be yourself, and good fortune may yet come your way.

If you’re an employer with an opportunity to hire a neurodiverse workforce, do it. Then give them the opportunity to gel as a team, organically. You don't have to take them to Maine. Just let them be people.

And my old job? My replacement quit after four days. And to my knowledge, only a part-timer has been found to fill the position.

In my bedroom at the cottage in Maine, there was a sign on the dresser. It said, "Suspend disbelief." I left for the trip as a new employee; I returned as part of a team. I came in having traveled very little; I returned with the travel bug, and a promise to myself to travel more. It all seemed unbelievable at times, but I suspended disbelief, and returned with more than I ever thought possible.

Happy-Nappy-Slappy-Sheeple-Mechanical Cultural Imprint-Ageless Everlasting Essence-Rigamarole-Great Cosmic Planetary Dance Around the Sun-Burfday

“Birthdays are a social construct,” Bill said to me, at one of the very first Asperger’s groups I ever went to. Like so many of society’s conventions, a device invented by the NT’s as one more excuse to socialize, wrapped in the guise of honoring the birthday person. He went on to say, when his Aspie son wanted a special toy, and his birthday was 3 months off, he didn’t wait – he got him the toy as an early present. And 3 months later, they just had a party, and everyone was happy.

I think there is truth to what Bill said. Birthdays are rarely about the person having the birthday. Birthdays are for wall posts from people you haven’t seen in 20 years, and won’t see again, but hey look, we still keep in touch. Birthdays are for cake, because it’s called birthday cake after all, and it being a birthday, we have cake on it. Birthdays are for office parties, a nice excuse for us all to take a break, and more cake. Birthdays are for sending cards with dancing monkeys, and flatulence humor, and bug-eyed grinning dogs on them. Birthdays are for presents, perhaps socks or a CD rack or electric shaver cleaning cartridges, things the birthday person needs but would rather not buy for themselves, because the things they really want, they’ve already bought when the mood struck. In other words, birthdays exist so others can pay their respects to the birthday person, or fulfill a social obligation to do so, in the best way they know how.

Who am I to go against the social construct? I am not cynical about birthdays at all. I believe my birthday is a day to be celebrated, with thoughts of peace and reflection, and looking ahead. I often wish I could observe it by doing something meaningful and memorable, as if I truly owned my special day.

How would I spend the day if it were really up to me? Who would I spend it with? I haven’t really bothered to consider the question. This week, that morning, I went for an early walk in the park, through the wet grass warmed by the rising sun, with no one else around. It was the best moment of my day.

Now that the ritual is over, maybe I should have an unbirthday celebration. Or maybe a whole lot of unbirthdays. Just a day to be awesome, to spend as I choose with those I choose. Maybe it’s your unbirthday too?

How do you celebrate? What would you do, if it were up to you?

The Freedom House Party

Night fell on a perfect July Saturday. I sat on the front porch as candles flickered in the dark, under a full moon, and listened to stories being told. Old stories, told by old friends, that were new to me.

In the back yard, we passed around sparklers, and ignited them in the flame of a tiki torch. We waved them like when we were kids, the sparks smarting our hands ever so slightly, before burning out. A long forgotten feeling.

I watched my own blog appear on a mobile phone screen, as I talked with a brand new reader about where my ideas come from, and comic books, and yeah, it would suck so much if we had to have 8-inch smiles like The Joker.

I laughed as a plot was hatched to snatch a hideous Christmas wreath that stays up all year. I laughed at a debate over whether a couch, discarded on the side of the road, should be taken into one’s home. And I laughed most of all as a lawn chair spontaneously disintegrated beneath its occupant.

Every July, my friend Basha and her husband host their Freedom House Party. This year was my first invite. We’d worked together for nearly ten years, but had never socialized much outside work. When I moved on to my new job, we’d agreed to stay in touch, and here was a chance to do so. This was no time for my usual social anxieties. I was happy to be asked, and happy to accept.

Basha has been an avid supporter of this blog from its beginning. That is her on the phone in my original cartoon, confounding me with sarcasm. She understands now why that doesn’t work on me. She has continued to want to learn about Asperger’s and what the world looks like through my eyes. I am so grateful for that. She invited me, knowing a party was outside my comfort zone, but wanting me to feel welcome and accommodated.

It was a wonderful time. I was incredibly social, for me. I didn’t try to be anything I'm not. I sat quietly and listened when I felt like it, and joined in the conversation when I wanted. It was all natural. As other guests danced the night away, and mingled, and drank wine, I enjoyed the night at my own pace, in my own way. And I couldn’t help but marvel at how we saw the same party through different eyes.

Basha was happy for me. “It was very courageous and cool for you to come,” she told me afterward. Maybe just a little. I confessed to an attack of nerves as I arrived, but I expected that, and I was prepared. I sat in my car for a few minutes, until I felt settled, and decided, “OK, I should go in now.” After that it was smooth sailing. The noise and the crowds never overwhelmed me to the point where I needed to get away. There was a dancing space, and a separate space to sit and chill.

Our conversation then turned to the movie Adam, in which the Aspie title character and his NT love interest grow to understand each other. She learned to talk to him literally, without figures of speech, and he learned to tell and understand jokes. Basha asked me, “Do you think you are changing? Do you think the way you think is changing since you learned about AS and started talking to others about it?”

Oh yes, I said. It’s been a year and a half now since I first disclosed. At the time, it was like revealing my deepest secret. I could stop being ashamed of it and actually be proud. I learned to accept my own limitations, like how I don’t remember faces. I began to share my experiences openly through my writing and cartoons. Most of all, I’ve continued to grow more comfortable in my own skin.

And I think that is why the party went so well for me. I didn’t have to pretend to be normal. I didn’t need any special accommodations. I was just another guest, taking part, enjoying good food and good times. And that is what I most wanted.

The Freedom House Party was a night I won’t forget. It was two weeks after the 4th of July, but in that house, Freedom was the word. Freedom to be myself, freedom to enjoy in my own way. Is there any better kind?

Dreams or Happiness

My job search is over. Earlier this week I accepted an offer, and I start July 1. My policy has always been to mention my employer as little as possible on this blog, so if you want to find out where I’m going, please head over to Twitter, where I made the announcement.

My search lasted all of 34 days. I realize how incredibly lucky I am to find something so quickly in these difficult times. At the same time, it has been the longest five weeks of my life. If you have a stable job that supports your needs in life, please take a moment to be thankful. You can really take it for granted until one day, it's gone.

I am going to a nonprofit organization that does truly amazing work. It makes a meaningful impact nationwide, with a staff of about ten. It has grown from grass roots beginnings in response to an urgent and recognizable need. It offers me a new challenge, and potential for professional growth. I met most of the staff, and they took time to get to know me, and we mutually decided it was a good fit.

I’m leaving a place that does an ever-growing number of things, for a place that does one thing, and does it well. I’m leaving a job where I did too many things to count, for a job where I’ll do two things: write grants, and work with a database. It will be nice to get back to basics, and keep it simple, and grow from there. That’s why, of all the options available to me, I think I took the best one.

In the past, I’ve written here about wanting to work in the autism field, and called it my dream job. I’m not going to be doing that. But I did have the chance. And I turned it down. Because it just wasn’t the right fit.

I got lots of advice during my search. As decision time neared, two pieces of advice stuck in my head. The first was: “Remember to weigh the benefits all around. Happiness level, health benefits, money benefits etc.” The second was: “You realize there's no such thing [as a dream job], right? Grass on the opposite side of fences, as green as it may appear, may well appear so green because of bad chemicals that will ultimately make you quite ill.”

Ultimately, I made the choice that fit with my lifestyle. I chose a casual work environment, where one of the two offices is in a cottage next to a barn, with people who took the time to understand who I am and what I can do. I chose to go where I can come home in the evening and have time to go for a walk in the park, or work on my cartoons, or catch up with friends. I’m making sacrifices in other areas for these things, but from this vantage point, that’s true job satisfaction.

I wonder too, whether I’ll make a better advocate if I’m not living and breathing autism for a living. Very few bloggers do that, if any. Would I still like to work for an autism organization someday? I don’t know. I will continue to be an advocate, and for now, that’s good enough.

So what is a dream job? Is there any such thing? Even when we're sure we know what we want, it may not be the truth. Maybe a dream job is one where you like the things you do on a daily basis, where you have space and time for the personal life you want, and where you enjoy the people you work with. And just maybe, you make a few friends for life. If that’s the case, I’ve already been living the dream, and I’ll go on living it where I’m going.

Alive

Awkwardness Unzipped

Awkwardness Unzipped is the name of a fundraiser in Portland, Oregon to benefit children and youth with disabilities. I love the name of this event so much, I made it the theme of this week’s post.

What does it mean, “awkwardness unzipped?” I say it’s not to worry about hiding one’s awkwardness. To accept a certain amount of clumsiness in who you are and what you do. Particularly in whether you’re breaking sacred social codes. Everywhere I look, it seems, I see examples of this.

This week, career management blogger and Aspie Penelope Trunk wrote a stunningly candid post that begins, “I smashed a lamp over my head. There was blood everywhere. And glass. And I took a picture.” The rest of the post was framed as helpful tips for readers on how to bounce back from a setback. However, most readers couldn’t leave the intro alone, and urged her to seek help.

“I wish there would not be so much feeling sorry for me,” Penelope responded in the comments. “Lots of people go through times like this. It's okay to show it while it's happening. The world is a lonely place if everyone hides this stuff.” Later, it seemed she was listening to the advice, as she tweeted that the payoff for posting the photo was, “I can crowdsource mental health strategies in my blog comments.”

The episode was more than a bit awkward to witness. Was Penelope right to blog about such a personal situation to 60,000 readers? What if she’d put her pride first and kept the incident “zipped up?” I don’t know the answer. I wish her the help and healing she needs.

Elsewhere, nonprofit marketing blogger Kivi Leroux Miller announced she would begin posting daily, on the advice of Seth Godin. “It doesn’t matter if anyone reads [your blog],” says Seth in the video, “What matters is the humility that comes from writing it… the meta-cognition of thinking about what you’re gonna say. How do you explain yourself?”

Kivi explained why she welcomes this kind of self-exposure: “I love how blogging lets me advance my own thinking on topics, one post at a time. I love hearing what you think about what I think, even when you think I’m completely wrong.” Sure enough, some readers chastised her for her decision, urging her not to become a “McBlogger” who sacrificed quality for quantity.

But Kivi has not been dissuaded. She sees a benefit in her daily posting that outweighs the risk of awkwardness. So far, her experiment seems to be going well, as I’ve noticed no drop in quality.

In my own life, I, too, feel I’m unzipping and allowing for more awkwardness. Those of us who are different are pressured to hide our differences, thinking they’re defects. But the more I see my Asperger’s traits as differences, the less pressure I feel to cover up.

I worry less about the way I walk. I worry less that I’ll mess up what I’m trying to say on the phone. I doodle on my notepad in meetings, even if people can see. These things may be no big deal to you, but they always made me feel awkward. Lately, I feel I am growing more assertive. I put myself before others. I allow myself more imperfection, and I get more done.

My blogging has certainly taught me humility. I’ve written about topics I never expected to. I’m never entirely satisfied with how my cartoons turn out, but if I kept redoing and redoing them, I would never finish. At the same time, I don’t ever plan to make this blog a tell-all expose, or a daily.

This week, a reader left a comment on this post thanking me for my help with an “A-ha!” moment, and then she “skipped happily away in a state of gleefully glad-to-be-me silliness.” I think that sums up what you find when your awkwardness zips away.

Moments like that are my payoff for putting myself out there. I write about my own awkwardness in the hopes that I can help you feel gleefully glad about yours. And if we’re all comfortable being awkward, then none of us is really awkward, are we?

It feels good to unzip. It feels honest, and healthy. You might sacrifice a little humility, but you might solve your problems faster. You might find friends you didn’t know you had.

So don’t be afraid. Go ahead, unzip! Let your awkwardness hang out!

Erm, metaphorically speaking, that is.