|Glass Brain from Corning Museum of Glass|
A story I like to tell about my brain: many, many years ago (MANY...as in about 21), I had to see a neurologist for some minor eyesight loss due to a migraine. (Very minor -- my eyes have compensated and I only notice the missing chunk in very specific situations.)
They were trying to figure out why this happened. (Gasp! They never did.) I got rounds of tests. Lots of tests. Eventually, I was sitting in the office of a neurologist who was looking at my MRIs.
"Well, you have the smoothest brain I've ever seen...none of the typical surface imperfections..."
I like to tell people that: I have a smooth and perfectly surfaced brain.
So this glass brain called to me.
Now I will picture my own brain like this: quite beautiful on the outside but, well, like a book -- you can't judge this brain by its cover.
My brain can be challenging and I'll be writing a lot about that in this space and how we are constantly working to come up with coping mechanisms that allow me more comfort and ease in my day to day.
But today I wanted to write about the beauty of my brain. There is much that I love about this aspergian grey matter.
Until I knew about my Aspie nature, for example, I thought that everyone had deeply intensely passionate feelings about their special interests.
I am learning that NTs don't even necessarily have special interests. This is beyond confusing to me.
I thought everyone around me felt the kind of Big Awe I feel on a regular basis about life and the mystery of life and the beauty of it All.
I assumed that everyone had intense conversations with themselves every day. Out loud.
I assumed that jumping up and down and clapping with Extreme Excitement was part of everyone's response to something fun or new or interesting or funny.
I didn't know that most people no longer SQUEAL by the time they are my age, 43.
You get the idea (or maybe you don't).
When I am feeling a bit of self-pity about my difficulties with Executive Function or my inability to understand simple concepts like friendship or my need for "too much" (in my opinion) downtime, I try to remember these shiny amazing things about this brain.
It quickly brings me back to my reality: I would never give these things up in exchange for the other.
I only know one way of being -- mine. And I happen to like it.