When I lived out in the woods and spent my time herding sheep and hunting bullfrogs, nobody gave two shits that I walked around barefoot and said whatever popped into my head out loud.
My hyperfocus and poor sense of time made me a hard worker, my compulsion to sort and organize random crap kept the property clean, and my special interest in native flora and fauna meant I could go out into the woods thanksgiving morning and come home with all the pricy mushrooms and herbs we couldnāt normally afford otherwise.
Who cared that I was awkward? There was nobody around except the occasional customer or temp worker, and those kinds of interactions could be entirely scripted.
Who cared that I dressed funny, had frizzy, dry hair, talked flat, and ate raw onions? Who gave two shits that I built forts out of scrap metal and twine? How did it matter that I passed time running in circles over old truck chassisā?
There were no bright lights, no packed-in crowds, no huge collections of shouty, screamy, smelly people. Nobody stared at me for more than a few seconds. Nobody critiqued my body language.
I was a bit odd, yeah, but all I knew was that I was smart and creative and better than other people at fixing problems.
I went damn near fifteen years out there not even suspecting I might be autistic. Nobody even thought to bring it up.
Now Iām in the city, and I have a hard time going into the middle of a store. I hate the mall. My eyes hurt. Ambulances and fire trucks and cars with bad brakes go by and I cover my ears and nobody else does. Iāve been told I come off as āquirkyā.
My question is, though, if an atypical person is in an environment that suits them, can anyone tell?
Most folks only know whoās blind when the lights are on. If the sky went dark tomorrow, weād have no idea.
