Second Delivery Attempt
delay due to MEAD™
Hiya! This post is coming in late today, sorry. I had another post all ready to go but was in a bad mood yesterday (Maximum Existential Angst Day, or MEAD™) so I trashed it at the last minute. I’ll attempt a new version here… LET’S GO
I had a relatively coherent post set to go for this morning, but yesterday I scrapped it. I had lost track of my Why. Not just why I’m writing these posts, but like, all of my why. One could argue that I just need to go on an antidepressant, but I disagree. Sometimes, those Dark Nights of the Soul just come more often, and we learn to ride them out. So I did, and today things don’t look so bad.
I met a friend for coffee this morning—someone I used to work with at the bank. I guess we met over ten years ago but I can’t remember the exact time. She is younger than me, and while we haven’t seen each other in person since 2020, there is always social media, and it’s been fun watching her turn from a young, anxious girl into a more confident, yet still a little anxious, mom of two.
It was nice to catch up and hear about how her life has changed. And to see how much she’s grown and learned about herself. She is becoming who she really is meant to be. I was a little jealous! But it made me super happy.
A few weeks ago, my therapist told me that quite often people on the spectrum have trouble defining and discerning sense of Self. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, my own mouth fell open. Oh. Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. (Additionally, there is a correlation between autism and gender dysphoria, which I hadn’t realized, but also makes a lot of sense. So far this is not an issue for me, or at least one that I spend much time thinking about.)
Sometimes I feel like I drift around on whatever breeze blows my way. I can see myself doing all kinds of things “for a living.” In fact, I have done a few things “for a living” and studied/invested in a few more. My first husband, X1, used to tell me, in a very concerned-sounding voice, that I never seemed to stick to anything and that my interests kept changing. Like that’s a bad thing! It is not a bad thing, but a person can overdo it.
I am quite envious of people who have known from early on what they want to do with their lives. Like my two best friends from high school. One was always interested in film—she is now the director of programming for the Sundance Film Festival. The other always knew that she wanted to study law. She is now the executive director of the legal defense fund with the California Charter Schools Association. Yeah, they nailed it. Me? Not so much.
Right now I’m grappling with the idea of actually calling myself a “writer.” This probably sounds like a no-brainer. Just call yourself a writer and be done with it! But it’s less about calling myself one, and more like allowing myself to feel like one. Do I make time for writing? Nope. It always comes last because I cannot somehow GET that I am a writer.
But, I am a writer. If I stop and quiet my mind, I can feel it in my bones. It’s what I do. I love making things, I love making people laugh, I love writing. That is me. So now what do I do with it?
And here I am.
Today at coffee, my friend said some words that seemed to be exactly what I needed to hear. She told me I was, without a doubt, a very good person. And she knows that I am a writer, and that these Substack posts in particular are things that I just need to get out of my head and onto paper. She told me she loves reading these posts. I teared up, and if you’ll recall from previous posts, I DO NOT CRY.
Yesterday I was wondering why I do this—why I write, and these posts in particular. What is the point? My friend knows. It’s because it’s what I do and I’m working shit out and for some people out there, this stuff is relatable or at least interesting. I realized yesterday that I would want to read these posts, if I came across them. I want to find people who think like me. It would make me feel less alone, more connected. These posts would help me understand another human being in a way maybe I hadn’t before. I don’t need people’s pity. What I would like, though, is people’s understanding.
So, here is this post today. Thank you, nice friend, for helping me remember my why.
Thanks for reading!
If you liked this post, I’d love it if you shared it with someone you think might like to read it too. Thanks for helping me share my why.
Yep, I'm there with you Andrea... What IS the point? I keep turning these questions over in my head: "I wrote a novel, but what did I LEARN from it? What was it's effect on me, the story or the writing of...? What did I learn about myself?" Still mulling... Keep writing, comrade! :)
Hey, I find it interesting! And you are a writer! As a father to one with Asperger’s and hanging around his friends a little bit, I’ve learned that Asperger’s is a big tent. It’s part of you but doesn’t define you.