To be an autistic person is to be a person with something valuable inside you but to rarely find the right environment where your value is recognized as valuable by people around you.
This is me, speaking from the heart of an autistic person.
To be an autistic person is to be a person with something valuable inside you but to rarely find the right environment where your value is recognized as valuable by people around you.
This is me, speaking from the heart of an autistic person.
If you’ve been following my neurodiversity journey–as I articulate the experience of a person with autism, ADHD, aphantasia, and proprioception hyposensitivity from the inside, along with the other ways i share myself–and you’ve found that the insights I’ve shared connect with your experience, or contextualize something you suspected, realize that sharing these insights is one of the ways I care for my community.
And realize that, as a person with no degrees or qualifications as an advocate other than my lived experience and my inborn gifts, what I share makes no sense in the context of capitalism.
If you find that a person like me is a valuable part of the community, and worthy of support, realize that, within the context of 21st century American capitalism, there’s not much support for people like me, or for the people I advocate for, who often don’t have the gift for articulation that I share with my community.
I could institutionalize myself: pursue an advanced degree that legitimizes my advocacy in the context of capitalism, and in doing so, would need to unplug myself from the community that I move through, and in doing so, become another victim of capitalism – saddled with huge debt, and most likely unable to find an official advocacy position that would pay off that debt in my lifetime.
I choose, instead, to move through my community in the ways I’ve been moving, because my community moves me to do so, and that’s how I show up. That’s how I care.
If you find this valuable, I’m asking to be allowed to continue advocating for your sensory and cognitive gifts, to continue recontextualizing valuable predispositions that have been pathologized. I’m asking to be adopted. I’m asking for your care. I’m asking for your support.
In asking for your support, I’m not asking to be the CEO of Spotify, or Starbucks, or Paramount+, or Ridwell, or any of the other services that folks find valuable and subscribe to. I’m asking for just enough care to be allowed to live and continue to do the work that I do. If you subscribe to even a little bit of the philosophy I share, consider subscribing to me, so I can continue caring for my community in the ways that I do.
Thanks for all you do, and thank you for being you.
The care economy is an emerging model for supporting people, things, and processes we’d like to see more of in the world. It is about recognizing the things in our experience that bring us joy, that give us a [wow] or a [yes], and responding to these moments in a supportive way. It’s actually just, well, practicing care, and that’s not new at all. But the language of commerce is transactional, rather than responsive.
I recognize that I love the work that I do with people so much that I would offer it for free if I was supported–if all of my needs were met. But traditional models don’t allow for that type of responsiveness. I would like to try to move toward a more responsive system, built on trust. Why not?
People who know me can decide if they trust the work I do, and they can choose to support me so that I can do that work, or not. In doing so, they are allowing me to be more myself, and guiding me toward their own needs. I’m the product, in a sense, but since our relationship is based on trust, I’m allowed to do the work I believe, adjusting to the needs that arise, as they align with those who trust me.
This simple shift makes the difference between the transactional and the responsive. But it’s kind of vulnerable and scary. I have to trust those that are responding. Will I be supported? Will enough people believe in the work? If I am being truly responsive to their needs, then perhaps. I think it’s worth a try.
I see a difference between commitment and obligation. Commitment is a responsive engagement, where we meet the needs of the moment as it arises. Obligation can keep us stuck supporting processes that actually hinder our ability to respond to the moment.
So, I see a possibility emerging to do things in a more responsive way, and in seeing how obligation often thwarts connection, I would like to avoid transactions that create a sense of obligation, and nurture ones that give one a sense of [wow] or [yes].
So, think about our interactions in the spaces we share. If our conversations seem to be taking us in good directions, let’s continue the conversation. If helping to support me gives you a sense of [wow] or [yes], then you are participating in the care economy. Thank you for recognizing your own power to support, and if our goals align, thank you for your support.
I’ve been thinking for some time about certain dynamics and patterns in the spaces I move through, and having a difficult time finding the right framing to bring these ideas up in conversations with colleagues. I decided to see what the pattern-recognition community had to say. The result was quite helpful, and gave me some useful language to bring to conversations.
Prompt: i am a person with autistic traits. I share space with a neurodiverse community. I have strong senses of the attractive and attentional presentations of people I share space with. For example, in a space where 12 children gather, each with a parent, to participate in coordinated activities, I can feel the attentional and attractive pulls of various people to their children and to each other. Some adults will be highly focused on their own child with their attention and attraction, whereas some folks will be more open and inclusive with their attention and attraction. I notice that in those who are highly focused only on their own child, they can become highly agitated in moments when an engagement shifts their attention and attraction to become conscious of the juxtaposition between their hyperfocus and the gentle inclusivity of the group.
What am I describing? What are established tools modalities or models for understanding and working with these dynamics in group settings? What are reasonable expectations and frames for engagement?
ChatGPT: You’re describing a complex interplay of social dynamics, attention, and emotional engagement within a group setting, particularly in a neurodiverse community. This involves observing how individuals interact with their children and each other, highlighting differences in focus and inclusivity.
Several frameworks and tools can help understand and navigate these dynamics:
Social-Emotional Learning (SEL): Focuses on developing emotional intelligence, self-awareness, and interpersonal skills. SEL can help individuals recognize their own emotional states and those of others.
Mindfulness Practices: Encourages present-moment awareness, helping individuals manage their focus and emotional responses. Mindfulness can reduce agitation and promote inclusivity.
Nonviolent Communication (NVC): A communication framework that emphasizes empathy and understanding. NVC can help individuals express their needs and feelings without judgment.
Attachment Theory: Explores how early relationships affect emotional and social development. Understanding attachment styles can provide insights into parental behaviors and interactions.
Neurodiversity Paradigm: Emphasizes the value of diverse neurological conditions and promotes acceptance and understanding of different ways of thinking and interacting.
By applying these tools and frameworks, individuals in a neurodiverse community can better navigate the complexities of social interactions, fostering a more inclusive and supportive environment for everyone involved.
Prompt: Are my autistic traits a factor in my perception or description of these dynamics?
ChatGPT: Yes, your autism likely plays a significant role in your perception and description of these dynamics. Here are some ways in which it may influence your observations:
Individuals with autism often experience heightened sensory awareness, which can lead to a more acute perception of social cues, emotional states, and interactions within a group. This sensitivity allows you to notice subtle shifts in attention and attraction among the people around you.
Many autistic individuals have a strong ability to focus on details that others might overlook. This can manifest in your ability to observe the nuances of how parents engage with their children and each other, as well as the emotional undercurrents in the group.
Your experience of social dynamics may differ from neurotypical individuals. You might process social interactions in a more analytical or systematic way, allowing you to identify patterns in behavior, such as the contrast between hyperfocus and inclusivity.
While some people with autism may struggle with traditional forms of empathy, many possess a unique form of emotional insight. You may be able to sense the emotional states of others, even if you don’t express or interpret emotions in the same way as neurotypical individuals.
Your own experiences as an autistic individual can shape how you interpret the behaviors of others. You may relate to the feelings of hyperfocus or agitation, which can deepen your understanding of similar experiences in those around you.
In summary, your autism is indeed a factor in how you perceive and describe the dynamics within your community. It provides you with a unique lens through which to observe and interpret social interactions, allowing you to notice details and patterns that may go unnoticed by others. This perspective can be valuable in fostering understanding and inclusivity within your group.
This is a post that I sent to my ukulele students.
Many people consider taking a music class at some point in their lives. Studying an instrument or using your voice in new ways can be a little bit challenging, and I think people think about doing these activities when things are peaceful, and they are feeling expansive, like they have some “wiggle room” in their schedule. That makes sense.
That being said, my own music practice has grown out of my tendency to focus on music at times in my life that were difficult. For me, playing music and singing is a powerful emotional regulation tool–when life is feeling chaotic or overwhelming, musical activity helps me focus on parts of myself that I can control and nurture.
I may have spent the whole day at work having to bite my tongue or not express my difficult feelings about my working atmosphere, but then I can come home and channel all of those feelings into a musical activity that helps to lower my heart rate, regulate my breathing, and stimulate my creative mind. I can learn to play a song that I then share with my friends or family, which creates a sense of shared experience, which also helps to relieve my stress and help me feel connected to my community.
So, even though taking on the challenge of learning an instrument might seem like an extra thing to have to manage in a busy schedule, that time that we spend making music can provide a welcome balance to our regular working life.
The Flute collection contains two songs that help illustrate the fascinating phenomenon of the folk process: The Three Ravens and The Crow Song. Taking a deeper look at the origins of these songs also allows us to make note of some of Ken Guilmartin‘s forebears in collecting and popularizing folk music and creating new compositions that suit the times.
The Three Ravens is a very old English language song. It appears in a 1611 collection by Thomas Ravenscroft (who is responsible for bringing us Hey, Ho, Nobody Home), who, like Ken Guilmartin, both collected and notated existing songs as well as writing new compositions.
In this early form, the story goes that the three ravens are conversing about the possibility of dining for breakfast on the body of a slain knight. Though enticing at first, the ravens notice that the body of the knight is guarded by hawks, hounds and the knight’s lover. The song ends with a blessing, that each of us might have such noble guardians.
The Three Ravens is also included in the important 19th-century collection of English-language music known as the Child Ballads as No. 26. Francis James Child, like Ravenscroft before him, collected and compiled the music that was being sung by people in the towns, villages and countrysides. He notated and categorized music that was being made without notation or category, for the most part, and in this way, is an important link in connecting music of the present day to music of the past.
The version known as Twa Corbies probably comes later, and is in Scottish dialect. The story begins the same, but has a different character. You can read more at the Wikipedia page.
We see many songs in the United States that have similarities to songs from the British Isles, but that are also markedly different, as the influences of African and First Nations musics were intertwined with the European forms. Case in pont: Poor Old Crow, which is included in the seminal collection American Folk Songs for Children (Doubleday, 1948) by Ruth Crawford Seeger, who, as a collector and archivist of folk music, composer in her own right of music quite modern in its time, and mother of Mike and Peggy Seeger and the step-mother of Pete Seeger, was a hugely influential person in the music of the United States. She worked closely with John and Alan Lomax (whose collection American Ballads and Folk Songs is a staple of US historical repertoire) and the Library of Congress to collect folk music of the United States and make it available to the wider public.
Poor Old Crow, collected in Virginia, is the basis for The Crow Song in the Flute collection. The lyrics echo the first stanza of The Three Ravens, with a clearly more ‘American’ form and melody. The recording by Seeger’s daughter Peggy portrays the 3rds (E’s) as more ‘blue’ than the MT recording, which renders them squarely in the mixolydian tonality.
I have led this American version in community contexts, and I enjoy singing it. I was, however, once approached with the concern that the reference to ‘Poor Old Crow, just as black as a crow can be,’ is racist. This concern was raised by a white person, and not by a person of color who had experienced the song in a way that they found hurtful. As a person of mixed racial heritage myself, I was careful to listen and validate the person’s concern, without sharing, in the moment, the connection to the older version of the song. I could see how the song could be presented in a tone and context that could be derogatory, and that it could also be presented in a context that was free from any negative connotations. I don’t see any hard-and-fast reason to exclude it from anyone’s repertoire, as long as it is presented with an open heart and good will. A little bit of history helps, too.
Every semester, I teach a non-MT play party or folk dance in my MT classes. I like to give families an opportunity to do an activity that has a traditional history somewhere in the world, that engages folks in direct cooperation, and that is a little bit longer than most of our 2 and 3-minute song activities. This semester, we’ll be learning a Scandinavian folk dance known as Fjäskern, or Hurry Scurry. Some sources say it is Swedish and some say it is Danish.
Here’s the Wikipedia page about the history of Swedish folk music:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swedish_folk_music
and here are some links to listen or download an audio file of Fjäskern:
Apple Music | Spotify | YouTube
and finally, here are a couple of versions of the dance on video:
In my internet travels, I came across some more information about Bessie Jones that’s worth sharing. We’ll be doing Way Down Yonder in the Brickyard again this week.
Here is an article about Ms. Jones’ life and work. This paragraph very succinctly sums up the place and value of the type of game we are playing in class:
The games, mostly from the British Isles, had been widespread among Southern black and white populations as a way to circumvent religious prohibitions against physical movement and dancing. As adapted by African-Americans they served as an important vehicle to transmit traditional African-derived dance movement and rhythmic styles that promoted group cohesion, nurtured individual virtuosity, and, as Bessie realized, helped make the players physically and mentally stronger. The songs, games, and stories of the past were a “spiritual survival kit,” in Bessie’s case, connecting her with the beloved figures of the past. To keep their memory alive she sought out young people to teach them to.
Ms. Jones befriended Pete Seeger, the folksinger and political activist, in the early 60’s. Mr. Seeger invited Ms. Jones and the group of school children she had taught her songs to to appear on his television show Rainbow Quest in 1965. In the linked episode, Ms. Jones demonstrates a number of songs from the African-American spiritual tradition, as well as some wonderful games with children. The whole episode is worth watching, but Ms. Jones contribution begins at 13:10, and the games begin at 25:50.
Note the duration of the children’s games. In music class, we usually limit songs and activities to just a few minutes. In these activities, it is noted, that the games go on as long as there is someone to dance. A wonderful counter to our busy, scheduled lives.
Here is some information about Arirang for your education and enjoyment.
And a Korean mom in one of my classes graciously provided links to some of her favorite versions of Arirang. The captions are hers.
This song is brought to us from the Georgia Sea Islands by Bessie Jones, a great singer, teacher and popularizer of African-American culture in the 20th century. Here’s what she had to say about this song:
“My grandfather made up this song down in the brickyard out from Williamsburg, Virginia, many years ago in slavery time. They had to make bricks with their hands and roll them up and fix them up with their hands, work some kind of a hot kiln. They tell us ’bout how they used to do it. They wasn’t getting no pay for it and they just made up their mind that, they always did make up their mind that they sing song, they get the work off their mind. They got to pacify their self they would sing something and so that’s what they did. They made this up, and they said, ‘let’s go ahead and make the brick, do the work, and step it down.’ Step it down mean make yourself happy and be rejoicing anyhow. You don’t get no money for it no how, so go ahead, and be happy with it. But we do want them, when these bricks, you know they’re putting the bricks up, they’re going to build things with it, someday know that they will remember them. So that’s what it is…why it say ‘Remember me,’ after they go ‘long, right now some of them bricks and some of that stuff is still there. They can remember them, but they wasn’t gettin’ no pay for it, so they just named it ‘Step It Down.’”