And Also With You
I leave you peace, my piece I'll lend you
I picked up a short shift yesterday evening. It was easy and I had the space to reflect.
At home we’ve been focused on Finn’s project and me assisting/mentoring in some of the steps. Through this my attention is turned firmly back in the direction of creativity, and what I would like the next twenty years of my life to look like. This focus has me wondering how tenuous the balance is, because it seems unshakably stable.
I am esteemed at work. I was promoted. The women to whom I report are experienced professionals, with heart. They are both light-hearted, intelligent, skilled leaders, and I have been brought into their circle. The compliment and compensation are huge and I am so grateful. This is stability. It is the dividends of doing the next right thing in the time-tight compartment of a day.
Finn and I— our relationship is beyond the reach of vocabulary some days. I’ll have my moments when I shake my head in disbelief because of our puzzle-piece fit. He had me in stitches yesterday, hitting my buttons emotionally, mentally, and spiritually all at once. Sometimes, when I am tired, I find his unprocessed wounds frustrating, his need for physical touch daunting, and the noise of him thinking out loud to be overwhelming. That’s because of my neurodivergence.
One thing I have learned (since allowing the label of autism) seems so obvious after a lifetime of raw-dogging the modern world. Human beings have not evolved quickly enough to handle all this stimulation. As I’ve endeavored to make my environment softer, it comes up again and again. My being, through consistent work, knows what spacious silence feels like. I want more; I can’t get enough. In that silence there is a presence that feels infinitely supportive, safe, and loving. The world pulls me away from it, and that’s the rub for me, and many others.
And so, I question the label, for in the three years since I learned it applied to me, I’ve observed the break-neck chaos of modern living to be the most ridiculous condition to be forced to cope with. It is no wonder I want to become a self-rocking fetus on the floor with my hands over my ears and my eyes screwed shut.
A carnival is gorgeous at night, with it’s sights and sounds and carefree glee. However, unlike daily life, one can leave. The beauty of the carnival’s excitement lies in it’s transience, like thought, like distraction, like life itself.
Then, on the walk home, the hand of silent peace leads the way.
I made the mistake of taking X—my first time—at Coney Island. I was ready to walk into traffic to make it all stop, the sounds, the sun and heat, the smells, colors, all too large, too overwhelming. Too much sensory input. I understood why kids would take X at night, at raves, with the dark to blanket you. Too feel like that all the time...so happy you're back here.