[đź’—]

When one offers a request for respect
(reasonable)
one seems to hear a demand for compliance
(white)

When one offers an invitation to consider
(black)
one seems to hear a demand to comply
(unreasonable)

One suspects that somewhere between reasonable offerings
(black)
and unreasonable demands
(white)
there’s a place one meets

(not just grey, but infinitely colorful,
including all the greys and colors)

(if there’s a space between)

(one has faith and hope
in the space between)

One has faith in respecting the request for respect, and
one has hope in considering the invitation to consider.

Somewhere between
reasonable and unreasonable,
black and white

–as vulnerable as that space might seem–

there’s hope that one meets faith there.

One might say there’s faith in hope there.
One might hear in hope there’s faith there.

The heart is in the space between.

everything changes

My hut has a dirt floor, basically,
(as I stopped running
the vacuum
at some point in recent time).

If paper counts as leaves,
the leaves make comforting drifts
astride the pathway
from my hut to the outhouse.

I think my style of housekeeping lately reflects my desire to live simply, in a natural environment.

Spiders and moths are my constant companions,
and I try to stay out of their way,
knowing the good work they do,
in keeping things safe,
and gravitating toward the moon.
I applaud them,
and mostly try to stay
out of their way.

(although, truth be told,
their way is a wonderful,
curious, and magical way,
that I suspect I would do
well to follow)

There are curious smells that drift in from the forest,
and varied and curious pockets of decay,
and growth from within the decay.

(I suspect my gut flora is in really good shape)

For whatever task I find myself engaged in,
the forest offers useful tools and curiosities to interact with,
making the way a wonder of
achievement, and
a joy to behold,
on a moment’s notice.

My ear’s love of novelty is satisfied
by the variety of sound environments,
in a plethora of timbres and tones and textures,
that exist within these spaces,
right here at my fingertips.

(It’s kind of amazing)

There are pools here and there where I see my reflection,
well enough, from various angles.
Not perfectly clear, but
clear enough. I recognize
my appearance,
just enough.

My sleeping bag smells like me,
(as it should be),
and I bathe occasionally in a waterfall,
where the rocks beneath my feet are a bit slippery.
I’m engaged in clearing a space around
my sleeping bag, so the dust
doesn’t get in.

(It’s going well enough)

The voices of my ancestors are very close,
and I can tune in to them at any moment,
at my whimsy.
They’ve always been there, and I’m
thankful for their many
myriad reminders.

(close, but not too close)

I’m finding myself increasingly accepting
of mother earth, in her endless and curious and
sometimes baffling and overwhelming variety and craft.

I’m finding myself accepting, increasingly,
of father sky’s demands for attention,
his ever predictable and demanding attempts at overwhelming my attention,
with his hasty attempts at craft.

(good enough attempts at craft,
blunt though they are)

I’m finding myself loving the infinite variety,
and increasingly overwhelming subtlety of my children’s directed attention, and attentional arcs, and disengagement from attentional arcs.

(craft is in their design)

In the shapes and colors and sounds and smells and textures around me,
I am reminded of my friends and relations.

(and it occurs to me)

I love visiting my friends in their zen temple environments,
but I seem to be made to live in a more natural environment.

At least for now.

Thanks for bearing witness with me.

Thanks for listening. Thanks for being flexible. Thanks for being changeable with me.

Everything changes.

Role Development in Children

A couple of principles I see play out in my environments that connect my experience with my learning are verbal play and large motor play.

We learn, in early childhood development circles, the importance of babble–emergent non-structured sound production, to a child’s language and musical development. Children need to have the space to try out their equipment in a free-range way in order to discover the pathways to conscious control. The brain is hearing and recognizing patterns of speech and musical sound, and children are always trying to mimic the sounds that they are hearing. The sounds they make are their “emergent wisdom,” and at first a connection to the sources of these sounds might be unrecognizable. Slowly, with lots of repetition, lots of trying, lots of beautiful mistakes (that parents often find endearing and write down–one of my favorites, as a parent, was “apupup” for “octopus.” We laughed and laughed about that one for a long time, and I still laugh inside when I remember it), they form sounds that we recognize and can reflect back to them, further encouraging them to continue in their studies. A beautiful feedback loop.

As the brain is always seeking a variety of sounds to recognize as language or expressive sounds, you can imagine that the more of these types of sounds are in a child’s environment, the more sounds will be recognized and categorized by the brain as available for use in expressing, and will emerge as the salad of expressive sounds the child will use. I have many trilingual families in my environments, and the style favored among these families is for the one parent to speak their native tongue to the child, another parent or caregiver to speak their native tongue to the child, and for the two caregivers to speak English to one another. As a musician, the range of expressive sounds that emerges from children in these environments is so lovely to me–strange, and beautiful with variety, timbre, syntax, articulation, and all the other things that sounds make. All children’s babble is beautiful–I don’t want to single these kids out–but since everything in the room is visible, it’s notable.

Kinesthetic “babble” is also important to a child’s emergent wisdom, and equally wonderful to watch unfold. Children tend to have access to their head coordination first, and then their torso, and finally the impulses make their way out to the limbs. Play is the work of the child (look it up), and through unrestricted play, kids get to do “all the movements” before they are required to harness their movements in various ways. Not enough can be said about the value of providing kids with a rich variety of models of creative and varied and multi-level movement to allow them to access all of the pathways available to them.

In a musical environment, having a wide variety of expressive modalities–dance, vocalization, instrument play, and various conductive modalities, provides a child with a rich tapestry of models and invitations to engagement, as they explore their movement capabilities. And again, it is joyful to watch kids experiment, and the things they do “outside the box” often lead to novel discoveries. Shaking a drum, or using a shaker as a drumstick, lead to creation of novel sounds with unprescribed movements. When a caregiver entrains to their child’s movement, the child becomes the conductor. This is just how it should be, especially if we value the idea of our children being the innovators of the future.

Children in our culture have a wonderful window of exploration, when all of their impulses are met with love and admiration and reflected with joy and recognition. During the time that parents are able to be still and enjoy these unstructured moments, and celebrate their child’s emergent wisdom, development in these areas ebbs and flows like a joyful ocean. Not to sound alarmist, but to sound an alarm, from my privilege as a person who moves through various environments with children, this window of exploration is getting narrower, in our culture, as we move children into environments of obligation and expectation and rules of participation earlier and earlier. As an early childhood environmentalist, I’m seeing it happen, and I am advocating for the environment.

At some point, there comes a time when a child’s vocalizations and movements become recognizable enough that adults around them will begin to manage these expressions, for various reasons. Here are some examples:

“Use your inside voice,” for volume outside of a prescribed range;
“We don’t use that word in public,” for language outside of a prescribed range;
“Don’t hit!,” for kinesthetic impulses outside of a prescribed range;
“Share!,” for engagement outside of a prescribed range.

All of these prescriptions come from adults, and are ways that we prescribe specific rules of engagement. They make sense to the adults who prescribe them, but there is nothing universal in their nature. Different families have different expectations of conformity to these prescriptions, as well as different cultures–ethnic and socioeconomic and trade-related and spiritual-related, and academic, and various positionally-aligned cultures within the larger community. Some are more free-range in certain areas, while being more prescriptive in other areas. Living in a multicultural society is great, and it also has its areas of conflict, as different expectations in the same room can lead to cognitive dissonance and confusion about preferred outcomes.

Emerging from these realms of verbal and kinesthetic play comes a more complex realm of engagement: the realm of role. Role describes a position within, an area of engagement relative to. As a child becomes self-aware, they become aware of the many selves embodying roles that surround them. The first roles that emerge are those of nurtured self (child, ideally) and nurturing self (caregiver, ideally). This is the basic give-and-take of human relationship. The roles of nurtured and nurturer are fairly universal, and will usually be the first models of role to emerge. We see children in our environments embodying the nurtured role, often, when a child wants to “get up” or “uppie.” Or when a child just wants to sit on caregiver’s lap and just observe. We also see children embodying the nurturer role, and even the prescriptive role, when they do something for us that they’ve seen us do for them, or when they tell us, “don’t do that.” They are simply acting out the roles they’ve been shown.

In terms of caregiver engagement, it might be best to treat our child’s experimentation and play in these roles as a joyful exploration, that we encourage and laugh about and document for posterity. The fewer expectations that we have that require of them to meet us in highly-refined ways, the more we can see the range of ways they are trying to meet us, and enjoy their beauty and strangeness, and we might learn (or remember) new ways of engaging. Think of it as theatre improv.

I’m sure we’ve all seen a child that asserts that they are a fire captain, or a digger operator, or a princess, or a superhero. These are all roles that children are “trying on for size.” “What does it feel like to be the fire captain? How does the world respond to the fire captain? What does the world look like through the fire captain’s eyes?” Many children “capture” a role like this, and embody it for some time. Children understand that adults have roles that they hold onto for a long time, too. Why would we be concerned when our child practices long attentional arcs, in the form of captured role play, considering we’re always asking them to pay attention? It is play, after all, and play is the work of children, and they are hard at work, and sometimes they know themselves quite well early on, if we let them.

Sometimes we see a child that is a role player and a big mover together. To me, this is a beautiful sight to see. Often a child like this will move through roles rapidly, which can be confusing for adults around them who are not used to seeing people change roles rapidly. We recognize a role, and then there might be a sudden shift, which pulls the rug out from under our conception. Some people find this experience of having the rug pulled out disconcerting, while others find it exhilarating.

I am one of those who find it fabulous, and fun. Think of someone like Robin Williams, or Jim Carrey, who can shift tone and body language rapidly. We understand these shifts of tone in context, because we understand the role that the person is embodying: the actor. The actor is a fine role to embody, as it allows one to move through many roles at will. If you’re someone who is stuck in a role you don’t want to be stuck in, imagine the liberation of morphing into a different role at will. Temples have been built throughout the ages for actors to be actors in. Some people study for a long time to be actors–some people start their study early, just like some people start studying to be a fire captain early. We should embrace and support the actors among us, especially if we recognize their role in our society, and recognize how much of our money and attention we give to support those who embody that role. Pay attention, indeed.

Here’s one of the challenges that actors face, though, as they move through their embodied roles: they show us to ourselves. That’s actually their job, and it’s a job that actors didn’t make up, it’s a role that they embody by being just who they are. Recently a child came into my environment with a ukulele (I play the ukulele during class). He strode right in with long strides, and looked me straight in the eyes, intently, and strummed and strummed his ukulele, as he strutted around. I was enthralled! But here’s what I also understand (and have seen happen, all too often): when we are shown ourselves, we don’t always like the self we see, or we feel we are being mocked. We have hair-trigger responses inside us, (even well-educated adults) that can light up our feelings when certain things happen in a room. When that child looked me straight in the eyes, intently–that’s a signal in some scenarios, a signal of dominance and challenge. Some of us are wired to respond to this challenge to our dominance, even when it comes from a child–it’s just an impulse, and if one’s impulses aren’t trained, one can be carried away by them.

I could have taken this child’s challenge to my ukulele dominance to heart, and felt that they were mocking me, or belittling me, and I might have experienced a tingly feeling somewhere in my body that I wasn’t ready to feel. But, loving children as I do, I actually love being belittled–it’s actually my job, so I laugh when it happens. What many adults don’t understand is that the intention of a child (especially a child of 2 or 3 or 4) is never to belittle, but only to reflect, and mirror (that’s how they learn everything they learn). Love should always be the only response to the mirror a child gives us.

But some adults, being highly protective of their roles, for whatever reasons, can react in unloving ways when little actors like this reflect something back to them that they don’t want to see, and it can be heartbreaking, and my heart is broken all the time watching it happen. An adult might say “that child needs to learn to control their impulses!”

But the truth is that the adult’s impulses have not been trained to always respond to a child with love (they might have had a tingly feeling they weren’t ready to feel at the moment), no matter what role they are moving through in the moment. I call that finger-pointing moment “hocus pocus,” a little moment where an adult has a feeling they don’t want to feel, and they point the finger at the child and say, “Look over there at those untrained impulses.”

The next time you see an adult doing this, stop and reflect on what is happening (since you’re witnessing it, and witnesses are important allies in times like this). Consider whether there is a kind way to advocate for the child, and turn the finger back around, and allow the child to get back to their work of training their impulses, that has been so rudely interrupted. Because asking a child to control their impulses (especially a child of 2 or 3 or 4) is asking them to do something that many adults have trouble doing. We should give them a break, not break them.

Little actors like this are only moving through the roles that they see around them, and believe me, they see a lot of roles being played. There are a lot of roles in a big city like ours–highly sought-after and studied-for roles, roles that we hold onto only tenuously, or roles that we grip ’til our knuckles are white. If every role-player in our big city was trained to only respond with love to a child, wouldn’t the love reflected back to us by children like this be wonderful? But children like this see us playing roles that we don’t even know we are playing.

If you’re a parent, there will come a day that you realize you swear because your child will swear. Your child just helped you wake up. Hopefully you laughed about it and documented it and put it in your album of mementos, to laugh about later. But the environment around a child can be unkind when certain reflections our children reflect back to us make our insides tingle in ways we don’t like, and we take it out on them, instead of owning it and waking up to ourselves. We point the finger. “That child needs to control their impulses!” Who’s the one playing that role? They might be someone like me, who saw a little ukulele player, and recognized myself, but then my untrained impulses might have taken the challenge in their eyes to heart, and felt threatened, and not have had words for what was going on. And I might have tried to restrain that child’s impulses for reminding me of my own untrained impulses. That would have been a shame, to restrain that child’s beautiful human impulses to respond to the world in they ways that they do (and as a parent, I was ashamed when I found myself restraining my child’s impulses instead of my own). We put our kids in environments all the time where people with untrained impulses are restraining our children’s impulses (I’ve done it too, and been ashamed when I recognized it. Luckily, that kind of shame burns up when we recognize what’s going on. It’s kind of cool).

So having been there, and done the thing I now know I don’t want to do, here’s the little shift I’ve made in my role of parent and children’s environmentalist, with little method actors all around me, who are always on (like Robin Williams, or Jim Carrey, or Kate Winslet, or Angelina Jolie–look up “actors who stay in character”–it’s a thing, and it’s a thing of beauty when a child adopts the concept so early): My role has changed. My role is now of caretaker–not of my child’s beautiful human impulses, which I am there to nurture, but of their environment, the world around them that they move through. Knowing that these actors reflect back roles they see played around them, I try to put them into loving environments where the only response to any role they’re playing in the moment is love. Being that they are moving through roles so rapidly, there’s a good chance, that if they’re not seeing people around them playing challenging or aggressive roles (which is what someone trying to manage their impulses looks like to them), they will eventually forget those challenging or aggressive roles, and continue to reflect the loving roles that they see embodied around them. If I trust that what’s inside them is love trying to connect itself to the world, then I can take pride in my child’s devotion to their craft.

It seems like a no-brainer to say, “Surround your child with love,” but if we don’t understand the environments we are moving them through, we might not recognize the dangers–the micro-aggressions, the subtle or even harsh challenges, the managed or restrained impulses. But our kids are moving through the environments they move through, and they see everything. And sometimes, we are even moving them in front of us, before we’ve recognized the environment they’re moving into. I see it all the time, because all the time is right there to see.

And being a caretaker, and advocate, I’ve learned to advocate for the child, not for the adult’s untrained impulses, even if the adult in question is playing a role of authority, even if it makes my hands tremble (thanks for that one, Mrs. Roosevelt). Having found myself in loving environments, I’ve found that, generally, people in the room understand who I am advocating for, and they are there to support me. When that hasn’t been the case, it’s made me consider the environment, and my advocacy. Having been a children’s environmentalist for a long time, I’ve had a looooong time to consider what I’m saying. And I think it will stand up to scrutiny. I invite you to point out any inconsistency. I don’t occupy a role of authority (which kind of makes it easier to understand authority, frankly. It’s right there).

And I invite you to join the children’s environmental movement. The children’s liberation movement. The liberation of children’s movement through the environments they move through. It’s right there, in the heart. And remember the Lorax, who spoke for the trees? He was a children’s environmentalist, too. If you’ve forgotten, maybe take some time out and reread it. It’s a classic for a reason.

But who will listen?

back to school

What we should be asking of our administrators and educators as our children return to school:

  • Being that the human species is a highly cooperative species, and being that the skill of cooperation takes practice to acquire, what models of cooperation will my child experience in this environment, and what opportunities to cooperate will be offered to meet the need of my child to learn cooperation?
  • Being that skill in any environment depends on impulses finely tuned to respond to the needs of that environment, and being that tuning our impulses takes careful practice and loving attention, what kinds of loving attention will be applied to tuning the impulses of my child to respond to needs within the environment they’re entering?
  • Being that children are instinctively inspired to apply their impulses in a learning environment, and being that restraint of impulses requires a certain cognitive and physical load, which the body and mind take on as a posture, what measures have been taken to ensure that attention is given to applying restraint in selective ways, and to giving attention to returning my child to their natural impulsive state once restraints are removed?
  • Being that the human species has a varied and rich distribution of sensory, cognitive, and behavioral expression, even within families, and these expressions are complementary, what is being done in these learning environments to acknowledge, allow, and encourage people with different sensory, cognitive, and behavioral expressions styles and allow them to engage with the world in the ways that make sense to them?
  • Being that the adult world is highly specialized and highly cooperative, what opportunities will my child to inhabit different roles, to see which is the best fit for their particular gifts, and so better meet the challenges the adult world will soon offer them?

note to parents:

there are lots of things to recognize in the busy world, and as we age, it’s natural that we’ll recognize more things. It’s just the way of things. Not everyone remembers this.

But if you grew up with grandparents, who nurtured you the way grandparents do, by making space for you to just be who you are, by being less busy, because they recognize themselves in you, you’ll recognize that if your children don’t grow up with grandparents, maybe it’s a good idea to nurture them a little more like grandparents do, by making space for them to be just who they are, and a little less like parents do, busy making sure that every detail’s taken care of, and managing their schedules, schedules that manage to reign in all their impulses, their beautiful human impulses to respond to their world in strange and beautiful ways.

Grandparents recognize strange and beautiful things and ways, simply because they’ve had time to recognize things and ways, and recognize themselves in things and ways, and make space for them. They’ve resolved something that allows them to see beauty in the strangest ways and strangeness in the most beautiful things.

They recognize themselves in you (remember, they were parents too).

If your child is growing up without grandparents, give someone permission to be their grandparents. Maybe the person you’ll recognize and give permission to is you. Permission granted.

enlightenment requires a certain cognitive load

Treat the difficult people among us gently.
Every day, they are processing our projections.

They are not trying to be difficult–they are just working with the operating system they were born with.

Making peace with the world involves a certain cognitive load, as the brain struggles to create new pathways to connect with and resolve reality.
It’s actually what keeps us young.

But in trying to avoid the feeling of the brain creating new pathways, we often offload this cognitive load onto the person we struggle to understand.
And the person we are struggling to understand often wants nothing more than to connect with us, and is trying their best, and will process the result of being told they’re difficult until it’s fully processed. This can take multiple lifetimes.

In offloading this processing, realize that we are moving ourselves away from the enlightenment we seek.
Enlightenment requires a certain cognitive load.

But if we need a break, advocate for ourselves and take a break. But don’t possibly break the self we’re struggling to understand by offloading our cognitive load to another part of ourself to process by telling ourself we’re difficult.

Don’t offload our cognitive load.
Give it a big ol’ hug.

may all beings recognize our true nature
every day is neurodiversity awareness day

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)

In learning about my sensory processing world (which should be uncontroversial, and just a normal part of getting old–I’m almost 60, and I feel like I’m just getting started), I’m learning that ‘spacial thinking’ is just not an accepted part of everyone’s operating system or language. In recognizing aphantasia (inner blindness to visual memory) as part of my sensory punchcard of blindnesses that open other windows, I’ve also recognized that I have a deep memory and skill information stored in my bodyandmind spatially. I can’t visualize my mother’s face, but I can imagine myself sitting in the skating rink in Klamath Falls OR in 1978 and point to all of the features there, relative to my position. I can imagine myself in my mother’s apartment and point to all of the rooms and some of the things (not all of the things: there are a lot of things in my mother’s apartment). I can’t see them, but I can point to them, spatially.

So anyway, this is just a quick note to say that some of us think spatially, and try to describe the world that we see spatially, and that in doing what is perfectly normal for me, some folks experience a cognitive load when conversing with or reading me. And some of these folks experience this cognitive load as “ryk being difficult.”

Pause for a moment, and imagine a whole lifetime of being told that you’re difficult, just because you’re trying to work with the operating system you’ve been given. And then consider giving a difficult person a big ol’ hug. I could use a big ol’ hug a lot of the time that I’m being asked to filter my experience through someone else’s operating system. It’s a whole process. Hugs all around.

Anyway, it’s notable and refreshing to be affirmed by examples of spatial thinking from history. Please give someone a hug, and enjoy the depth and breadth and height of this example of spatial thinking (or spatial feeling, actually, if thinking and feeling are different for you–they’re not for me).

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.  
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

may all beings recognize their true nature
every day is neurodiversity awareness day

sonnet #3

it’s not in belief that faith succeeds, but in being
moved by beings one sees are being moved
by faithful arcs: the sun and moon are proved
faithful in their arcs. are we agreeing?

who is moving in these faithful arcs?
whose business is in preparing to meet the moon?
who is leaving breakfast far too soon,
to move some dollars to some oligarchs?

being moved by faith, one moves more slowly;
responds more quickly to the moment’s need–
without a thought of whether the need is holy,
or whether one is doing a holy deed.

faith’s beyond belief: and being wholly
present frees the faithful to succeed.

what we’re working with

We’re living in a world where we’re all witnessing the same symphony, with all of its nuances and variations and development of themes and variations of timbre and tone and iterations of rhythm and rhyming ends of lines,

and some of us are only hearing the pitch and timbre and tone and rhythm range of the violins,

and some of us are tuned into different specific frequency ranges, and timbral ranges, and rhythm changes, and tonal shifts and spectral bumps and thumps and squeaks and squawks and beeps and thunks,

and some of us are hearing the full spectrum of sound, and the spaces between the sounds (the spaces between are not just beautiful–they contain the beauty) and timbres and pitches and rhythms and iterations of rhythms,

and when we gather, after the symphony, and describe our experiences, some of us are being told that the nuances we heard don’t exist, and that we’re weird for hearing them.

Imagine, if you can imagine, (or at least make friends with someone who imagines, if you can’t imagine), being told that hearing basses and oboes and piccolos and triangles and tympani and glockenspiels and bassoons and trumpets and trombones is weird (to be fair, glockenspiels is a weird word, if English is your only language and you can’t hear the music in it).

That’s what people “on the spectrum” are up against. We’re weird for hearing the whole symphony, or a specific part of the symphonic fabric, and not just the violins, and trying to describe our wonderful spectral experiences to our peers, when we gather, after witnessing the symphony.

And sometimes we just give up. Or selectively give up. Because trying and trying is trying on our ability to describe, so we may appear to have a disability. I’ll tell you: it’s not a disability to witness the symphony. It’s a disability to get our experience across to those who are acculturated to violins.

Something weird’s going on, indeed–I’ll give you that.

Imagine, if you can imagine (or make friends with someone who imagines if you can’t imagine) a world where our experience of the symphony is better together, when we combine our described experiences, rather than excluding ones that are different from our own by calling them weird or saying they don’t exist at all.

Or maybe one wants to live in a world of violins…

As a person who plays both bass and piccolo, I shudder to think of it. It sounds like a violin world, indeed.

operational environments

Here’s a bite-sized piece maybe someone can digest and apply across a spectrum of environments (if someone’s mind is flexible enough): There are people sitting next to you (or maybe even you) for whom a click of a button on a website unleashes a host of unexpected sensory and cognitive attacks, in the form of attention- and cognition-demanding responses to that one little click.

Test my hypothesis: go to a website for a church that rents space. Click on their scheduling link button. Chances are a completely new visual environment will leap out at you, as if out of nowhere, and you’re asked to log in with your account (remember, this is your first time visiting this website–what is this account? Am I accountable to the church? I just want to borrow a room for a minute). And then it demands highly personal information and account information for a seemingly unrelated account. (wtf is going on here? I thought this was a church). And then, after careful consideration (this is a church, right? They must have a loving intention) and tentatively entered personal information, the calendar application wants to mate with my calendar application, and gives me no opportunity for consent (I’m being raped by a church calendar. wtf just happened? Who can I call?).

And imagine this happening in the context of trying to create safe spaces for children’s attention and cognition to unfold at its own pace.

It’s not even a micro-aggression – it’s a highly-charged aggressive set of demands, that require attentional and cognitive equilibrium to process well. In the absence of this equilibrium, and in the presence of an obligation to be competent in this highly-charged aggressive environment, these demands are beyond aggressive – they are debilitating. They kill the spirit.

It should be obvious that I’m describing my own experience. And speaking from my own experience, of a person who is highly competent in certain environments, I experience that the disability I experience is the product of the environment, and not a flaw in my character.

But then, imagine that this person experiencing disability (meaning me, in this case) is told, in a thousand tiny moments spread across their life, that they shouldn’t be feeling what they’re feeling (because the people who design these environments aren’t feeling what other people feel when other people enter these environments). Imagine telling someone that they “shouldn’t” “be” “feeling.” Those concepts together are highly aggressive and dismissive. Isn’t that called gaslighting? But what do I know: I’m only operating from my experience. Who’ll believe me?

If you can feel what I’m getting at, you’re getting at the environment that we’re operating in as people with highly specialized nervous systems–HSPs, NDs, ADHDs, ASDs, and all the othered initialed sensibilities. It’s a whole process to even understand it from inside, let alone explain it to someone who designed it, and is highly invested in the design.

People who experience the world in special ways, who are highly competent in certain environments, experience these aggressive responses a thousand times a day. Or, when these environments are codified in the form of obligation, they may be experienced as an almost permanent disability. We are being gaslit into believing we are permanently disabled. But we are perfectly abled within in our special environments. And often, these special environments are highly conducive to inclusion, community, emergent wisdom, teamwork, cooperation. Environments that many people actually like, but rarely get to visit, because these humanly interactive environments are highly endangered.

And almost no one is listening. Most have tuned me out already.

But the ones who are listening are the ones who are hearing me now. Thanks for listening. Thanks so much for listening. I hope we get through this. If we keep listening and connecting, maybe we will get through this. I have hope.