The Memory in Senses

“Standby starter…” those are the words I hear over the radio each time a practice session is about to go green. I had the green flag in hand eight days ago for the Indy 500 open test at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. I get the alert with ten seconds to go, and I looked up at the pagoda, which now had sunlight reflecting off of it. I get chills each time I step onto the grounds at IMS, but when I heard “green flag starter, green flag” and as I let the green flag fly, the smell of the race fuel hit me, and I was… I was brought back to 1987, and my first-time seeing cars at the track going faster than my childhood brain could have ever imagined.

I felt a sense of warmth unlike anything else. I smiled with a peace that was almost to the point of being unexplainable. Thankfully I can, and the smell brought back memories of my favorite place on Earth, but also of those that I've been to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway with.

The few cars that stayed out on this opening lap got my waving green and as I put the flag back in the holder and listened to the cars going through the south chute the sound, as well, took me back in time. Yes, the volume, and pitch of the engines have changed over the years, but the sound of engines echoing off of the stands is a sound that hasn’t changed. Once again, an overwhelming sense of emotion flooded over me. I looked over my shoulder to the spot I sat in 1992 when I had one of the best seats in the house to when Unser Jr. just barely edged out Goodyear in the closest finish of the 500. This made me remember the man that was flagging that day, Duane Sweeney, and all that he did for me in the kindest act I can ever know, and can never repay.

As the hours progressed and I allowed myself to fully be immersed in the senses I couldn’t help but tear up. This wouldn’t happen in the middle of the race mind you, as that’s a full on assault of focus, but as there were just a few cars on track I was able to reflect on what I was experiencing and I smiled as the near irony that I, for once, wasn’t looking at the senses in a negative light like I so often do, and many of us on the autism spectrum will as well, but the memory in these senses brought back the warmest and safest of thoughts.

Time was running out on the session, and the smells of race fuel once again fueled my memories. The smells kindled up memories of my dad, and all the years we’ve been going to the track together. I smiled as time expired, and the cars flashed underneath me, almost in a mock finish as there were a lot of passes for a test session, and as the final car went by and disappeared into turn one, I finally allowed myself the full immersion in these emotions.

I smiled. I believe the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is one of, if not the most magical places on Earth. Since 1911 people have been making the trek to the Speedway for the 500, and the love of the place and race has been passed down through the generations. I thought back to Sweeney, who had his last race in 1997, and that his legacy will live on forever. I thought about my dad and when he’s no longer here I know that each time I get the whiff of race fuel I’ll be taken back to cheering the cars going by in 1987. His legacy will live on.

In one month the 106^th Indianapolis 500 will be run and as hundreds of thousands of race fans gather, I know there will be many, many thousands that have an emotional response as I do. We will remember those that came before us be it those that first showed us the track, those that attended with us, journeyman drivers that tried, and the champions that excelled. We will also be cheering on the drivers competing that day, and perhaps some will be sharing the Speedway with those that will be exposed to the place for the first time. This will be my girlfriend’s first 500 and I hope there will be dozens to come thereafter. And of course, for someone like myself who tends to think way too much, I will be thinking about what is to come. Someday, maybe, there will be a fan like I was that will take my spot in the flagstand and maybe, in 75 years, they too will think about those that came before them, they too will be taken aback by whatever the smells of whatever energy is powering the cars, and they too will become lost at the most magical place on Earth.

 

A Special Kind of Angst

“Make it stop!” those were the words I was repeating as my eyes darted around the room. I was hoping the person speaking, as well as my girlfriend, wasn’t noticing the sheer terror I was in the midst of experiencing. Was this some sort of talking down I was receiving? Or perhaps a lecture in the ways of comma usage I don’t understand? Was this anything involving me or my actions? Well, I really wish I could say so seeing I started this blogpost with such a dramatic statement of wanting it to stop, but it wasn’t. Nope, it wasn’t anything potentially “cool” and there were no talks about commas. Instead, it was a waiter stating the restaurant’s specials for that night that weren’t on the menu.

Ordering at a restaurant is not the easiest of things for me. For those that have been to enough restaurants with me, they’ll be able to almost recite my orders. As I state in my presentation, “Whatever I got first at a restaurant and liked I’ll always get.” This isn’t a sometimes rule. This is the way it is. Trying something new, even one bite, isn’t in the cards. I know what I like, that’s what I get, and my coworkers at INDYCAR can almost recite my orders word for word and sometimes will join in when I get to the “diet coke with grenadine no ice”.

There’s calm in sameness, and there’s panic when things go off script. I struggle in collective talk, and ordering is one of those times. I sound robotic because I try not to deviate from what I say because deviation may create a reason to make eye contact with the waiter. I do try and avoid this because, well, I try to avoid eye contact with most everyone. Why avoid eye contact with a waiter? There’s an infinite amount of information and an impossible amount of humanity to process when eye contact is made that if I do make eye contact my words for my order will be jumbled or my delivery will be a mess and then a second reciting of my order will be needed. This furthers processing and will make the dinner a most unenjoyable situation. Therefore, when the reading of specials happens that I wasn’t prepared for, well, there’s panic.

I may be robotic/flat in my order giving, I’ve noticed that waiters and waitresses sort of do a bob and weave when giving the off-menu specials. This makes the attempt to avoid eye contact even more difficult… and obvious.

I’m aware of my difficulties here, and how they can be perceived. My goal in daily life is one of a chameleon. I don’t want to be noticed or seen because to be either of those requires extra processing. During the reading of specials, I can’t, with any accuracy, estimate the time it’s going to take. Of course I can’t say, “not interested” because that would be rude. However, I’m sure it’s rude doing the eye dance around the room doing everything possible to avoid eye contact so I can remember my order and not have to go back to the menu to remember what I’ve ordered so many times before.

The enemy for me, here, is processing. This challenge extends far outside the confines of a restaurant. Think of any given environment where the unexpected could happen… that’s everywhere, right? It is, and for myself, in school, I struggled with the unexpected reading or conversation akin to the specials at a restaurant.

What do I want you to take away from this post? The main thing is that, when the waiter is doing the bob and weave reciting the specials, to which many patrons would enjoy something new, I’m not trying to be disrespectful to whomever is speaking during whatever the situation may be. I’m just trying not to forget what I have to say or do. It doesn’t take much to derail my train of thought and by looking away I’m attempting to respect the person that is speaking so I’m able to respond in a timely manner. This is hard to explain on the fly as it’s happening so if you come across a person that is exhibiting a behavior much like I’ve described I’m hopeful you’ll understand that no disrespect is intended, but rather I’m just trying to do a bob and weave of my own so I can reply and life can move on without any additional angst, fear, or excessive amounts of processing.

 

 

 

Anguishing in Languish

It has a name. That’s the first step, right? It’s been difficult to describe to those around me the lack of motivation I have when I’ve been home. Starting anything new, be it a book, game, or Netflix series has been impossible. Writing has been a challenge and my normal time of upload hasn’t always been before new. Creativity isn’t the problem as I have a multitude of ideas, but the execution of ideas is.

My entire writing life has been based on identifying a problem, isolating it, writing about it, and creating a pathway forward through understanding. Since the beginning of the pandemic the process has changed. I accounted for many different variables, but when my girlfriend showed me an interview with a New York Times writer, well, things finally made sense.

Hearing that interview, I instantly began visually seeing the problem. I knew the problem wasn’t when I’m away from home when I’m amid the long hours of working with INDYCAR. What could be the issue then? I knew it wasn’t simple laziness because working 50+ hours in five days is a breeze. What then could cause such a split depending on the environment? I believe it’s languish with a hint of autism spectrum thrown in.

When the pandemic began, I lost my livelihood. The only thing I had was accepting fate and staying at home with no prospect of anything new ever happening again. As the months progressed this feeling grew more and more solid as if wet cement were turning into hardened concrete. Then, in June of 2020, I picked up working for INDYCAR, which helped being away from home, but being home remained a problem.

Talking with my girlfriend after the video I worked through the issue. Why was there this gap? Why, when I’m home, does everything seem impossible? As the interview said, those that reported this didn’t report straight up depression. I then thought about my statements of both, “whatever happens first always has to happen” and, “whatever is now is forever”. During the pandemic I learned, through flawed logic, that any chance of me recovering my career was over. This has proven to be a falsehood, but it lasted so long that the inertia of the “forever” was strong. This would mean that I can’t simply “forget” the anguish that led to the languish.

What could help me, though? I was hung up on this. I then drew a shape that illustrated my routine right now. Imagine a circus tent with outer poles with wires stretched straight out to a curved semi-circle in the middle before going straight out again. This is much like my routine with INDYCAR being the straight lines and being home the dip. In the dip, like the onset of the pandemic, I’m a demagnetized compass attempting to find my way.

Seeing a visual representation of my schedule helped. Actually, it blew the solution for me wide open. When I’m home I’ve got to create some sort of structure to escape the chains that were created in the pandemic. Presentations will happen again, I’ve got my dream job with INDYCAR, and things are the best I’ve ever had them. Living this duality of either being fully engaged at the track or being lost at home is not sustainable. I don’t have much home time though through the rest of the season, and the month of May in Indianapolis begins in just two weeks, but simple things during the season should help.

I’m excited to see if the simple adjustments I’m envisioning will help. I will be instituting a schedule of sorts to build the routine to end the spinning compass. Perhaps I dedicate a day for golf and another day to go bicycle riding. One of the solutions that the interview said was to become lost in a topic or activity. This used to not be a problem for me, as it is for most of us on the autism spectrum. Think about that for a second because, for myself, I don’t think that can be stated enough. One of the things I lost in the pandemic was the ability to become obsessed about something. True, that in school this was hindrance to learning new things or time management skills, but a “Kansas” becoming a “hyper-Kansas” has been the way my brain has operated my entire life. There is such a sense of life and peace when one of these occurs and, while it may cut back on sleep hours when I want to learn everything there is to know about a certain topic, there’s such a sense of being complete to it. However, it’s impossible to hyperfocus on something when the ability to start any given task is impossible.

Maybe I’ve written something that sounds like what you’ve gone through the past two years. I hope either my words, or the interview about languish has helped, and I’m excited about the prospect of getting back to the person I was so I can once again enjoy life on, and especially off the track.

Good Deeds Aren't Forgotten

My girlfriend and I had dinner yesterday near where I worked at the videogame store. This brought back quite a few memories, and one was about the day I was almost late for work.

As I said, I was close to the video game store I worked at. I worked there for about nine months and during my 2nd month there I had an incident that almost saw me late for work. Now, at that point in time in my life, I believed that if a person was late, it was an instant firing. I believed this despite the fact that the store manager often was an hour late opening the store with me waiting there, but that's beside the point. Anyway, one day, as I was on I-55 headed to the mall and my 1983 Mazda 626 decided that it wanted to quit working and I lost all power.

This was my first time breaking down and this was back in 2001 and this was back in the day that when cell phones were something that only fancy people had. Thankfully I was chronically early, and I was considering walking to the mall, but I was still four miles away and then what about my car?

I sat there worrying myself to death, when all of a sudden a car pulled up behind me and stopped. "Did they break down too?" I said aloud. It was a nice car (Chrysler Sebring) and then this lady got out and walked up to my car. I rolled down the window and she asked, "Do you need some help?" Did I ever!

She allowed me to use her phone and I called my dad and he asked if my battery was connected, or if it made a this type of noise or that type of noise and to all the questions all I could say was, "I don't know." All the while I was still thinking about the fact that I was going to be late for my shift at the store and that meant life, as I knew it, was about to be over.

In fact, I was a broken record on this. I kept telling my dad that I didn't have time to wait for a tow truck and that I was going to walk. The lady overheard this and said, "Oh, it's on my way, I can take you." That worked out well because I guess all the vehicles of Saint Louis decided to break down because AAA had a three plus hour wait for tows. With that being so my dad told me to take the ride with the lady and we would deal with the car later.

And that's exactly what I did. The lady in the Sebring was very nice and it actually went against everything I believed in people back then because I believed everyone was cold, callous, and downright mean. And yet, she stopped on a busy interstate to see if I needed help and then gave me a ride to my job. How amazing is that?! She gave me her business card and she was an insurance salesperson and day after day I meant to call her to say thank you, but I never did. To this day I wish I would have made that call, and somewhere in a box I know I still have that business card, but I doubt I'll find it. So wherever you are Sebring driver I just wanted to say thanks. It's small acts of kindness like that which make the world a better place and of course you quelled my severe anxiety that day and is a reminder that, should the need arise, if you do a good deed that person may remember you forever.

Being Remembered

 I've always struggled with the concept of "out of sight, out of mind." This is a two-way street in that I'm sure most people I come across will forget me. Heck, when I was young, I was deathly afraid that my pets would forget who I was if I were gone just for a few days. All this happens despite constant reminders that my belief is a falsehood.

Earlier today I went to my bank to make a deposit. I have been saving for a big trip for quite some time and my preferred savings method is via $2 bills. As I entered the bank, a branch I haven't been in for over a decade, both tellers greeted me by name. I'm sure one of them was cursing my name after a deposit of so many $2s, but how did they remember me?

It actually brought a smile to my face, to be remembered after so long, but I was also confused. How many people do they see in a day? A week? Or in this case a decade? How did they remember? I don't know, and for myself I worried if anyone expected me to do so. I'm horrible with names but not in the case of being on the tip of my tongue; I'm bad at names because I try not to use them. Truly, I will do everything I can in person to not use a name be it a raised hand, a raised eyebrow, anything to not have to use a name.

Why avoid names? Oddly, it's because it's too person for me. At a race track I'll use names over the radio, but in person I won't. This makes it even more amazing, in my mind, that those two tellers remembered not only me but my name.

Lastly, this makes me sad. I know it is of the utmost respect to remember someone like they did and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to show that level of respect to someone I might've seen briefly once a month over a decade ago. I wish I could. I hope those that I can't remember won't hold it against me. I wish I could remember names, and faces which are hard because I try to avoid looking at people because there's so much information to process in a face, but it's amazing just how fast reminders come about being on the autism spectrum for myself. 

The Days of Monopoly

 For as long as I can remember I have had an absolute love of the game Monopoly. Yesterday, while at the Joplin office, I saw a game of Monopoly in session and a huge smile formed on my face as I remembered the days of Monopoly.

I had a family that I was friends with in Indianapolis that I grew up with and even 

though I lived in Saint Louis it seemed as if I spent just as much time at their house. These trips were crucial in my development because the days of Monopoly brought out my social side.

If you could have seen me before a game of Monpoly at their house and during the game you would have been quite confused. Just as I have said about the need for direction, playing the game gave me direction. My level of comfort would go up by an unmeasurable percentage and I began to talk.

I would talk before the game, but it was forced and labored, but during the game I was as slick as a used car salesman. Trading was my specialty and I am sure I would have been guilty of "badgering the witness" had this been a courtroom.

Perhaps my trading and negotiating skills were harsh, and I lived by the motto of,  "It's not personal, it's business". Harsh or not, playing the many games I had allowed me to talk. I felt comfortable in a social setting.

When we moved to Saint Louis in 1993 I was in shock. I could easily have conversations about auto racing in Indianapolis (where we moved from) but I was in shock that, in Saint Louis, people generally only care about the sport if the home team wears red and the sport is played with a bat. My conversational tactics that worked in Indianapolis had no chance of working here in Saint Louis so I became rather quiet in school. That being so I looked forward to my trips to Indianapolis from months in advance.

I've tried to count how many games we played during all those years and it has to be in the hundreds. We had so many games; one that sticks out in my mind was where we started with five players, got done to two, and had a perfect storm that neither he nor I could win. We had to break out the $1,000 and $5,000 bills from "The Game of Life" because we had so much cash on hand and the $500's were out. The game ended in a tie as we said we had developed the "perfect economy".

While it may be the games I remember, it is the end result of where I am still experiencing. Had we not gone back to Indianapolis as many times as I did I don't know where I would be right now. It may have been intermittent but it allowed me to know that I was able to talk, I was able to socialize.

I was always kidded that I was only happy if I won, and that wasn't the case. I had to play hard to stay in the game, but winning wasn't about having Boardwalk, or Baltic (my personal favorite) or my obsession with buying all the $1's from the bank but rather winning was simply playing the game. I could practice talking, negotiating, and during a game the need to understand initial social cues is eliminated and since I get caught up with that aspect of life having that aspect be not in play was valuable.

It's been forever since I played a game of Monopoly in person. I played one game online last year and naturally won, but it wasn't the same. Monopoly is a social game and playing online just isn't the same.

It's been forever though and I don't know if I will ever experience those days of Monopoly again. As sad as this makes me it isn't a total loss. Everyday I live I still have the positive effects of all those games and for that I am so grateful

One Seed

Two days ago I drove up to Indianapolis from Saint Louis. When a person drives on this route in late September, the fields to the left and right are vibrant with vegetation, but in mid April they were barren fields simply full of potential. What a difference a little (or a lot) of work will make and that got me thinking.

I've talked so much about the potential a person on the autism spectrum can have. However, it probably isn't just going to happen, and it needs to work very much like the land out here. If it weren't for the decades, maybe even a century's worth of work of the land whether in Illinois or anywhere there's a field, there's a good chance, well, a 100% chance that the land would not be hospitable for much of anything. It's taken irrigation, proper ranching, and a constant eye to make sure the land and livestock are right.

So why am I going on a talk about ranching and land? Potential. Someone, at some point in time, saw potential out here and now this community has a sustainable agriculture economy and if the agriculture goes away this town very well may go away. How does this relate to anything? It all goes back to potential.

The school year is nearing the final days and much like the field I saw, there are many, many people full of potential. I think back to my teachers I had that saw thew potential and planted amazing seeds. It's fitting I'm working at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway today because my second-grade teacher, on one of the last days of school, opened my eyes to the world by simply asking me, "Aaron, where is Silverstone?" That one question opened my eyes to travel, the world, and laid the framework for me chasing my dreams.

I've been ending my presentation for years saying, "we live in a society where everyone wants everything to be perfect right now. When it comes to autism we can't look at it that way and rather we need to look at it like planting seeds; you've got to give it time to grow." That being so teachers have a great chance to plant the seeds to instill that potential that could be hidden underneath. 

Not being a farmer or rancher, I won't really know what I'm seeing through the growing season because some fields will be filled with cattle and grasslands perfect for food, then others will be crops that I can't name, and then there will be some fields that are seemingly empty. What's there? What's going on? From my vantage point it's empty, worthless land, but to the right farmer or rancher they may see the hidden potential in the land. That's the difference between knowing and not knowing and I can only hope that in this upcoming school year more and more teachers master the art of seeing potential because what may seem like an empty field may someday turn into the most beautiful of creations that all started with the planting of just one seed. For the teachers out there that are exhausted, try and remember this. You may plant the most amazing seeds and never see the harvest in return. My teachers will never know the heights I have reached or that the race I talked about every single day at recess, the Indianapolis 500, is now an event I've worked from the flag stand. It can be exhausting, stressful, and demoralizing at times but I can assure you that you are making a difference, and that you may never know the beauty that comes from your work, but I can attest I thank my teachers every single day. Thank you!

When Travel Goes Bad

 

            Not too long ago I blogged about the joy of travel. However, it doesn’t always go well and in 2018 I had an event that stuck with me for a long time thereafter.

            Ten days prior to this event I had gone to Tokyo on about 10 hours notice. There was an incredible last minute deal using miles and I had no presentations to places to be in that time frame and I found a great hotel at $39 a night so it was a deal far too good to pass up. It was a memorable trip and I’ve awaited the chance to go to Tokyo again, but the waning moments in Japan were highly intense and staggeringly confusing.

            I didn’t want to go home. Being in Tokyo is such a relief for me. There’s a feeling of normality I have there that I haven’t felt elsewhere. As I said, I can’t wait to go back, but this story picks up at the airport as I’m about to head home.

            As usual for me, I got to the airport with more than enough time to spare. A couple hours went by, and it was time to board the plane. My zone was called, my boarding pass was scanned, and as I entered the jet bridge there was a security guy that said my name and waved me to the side. I had never witnessed such a thing and I was on the receiving end of whatever this was. I feared many things, perhaps something bad had occurred and this man was going to be the bearer of bad news. Perhaps someone with my name was a wanted criminal and they thought I was a different Aaron Likens. Through all of my fears I knew that nothing good would come from having my name said directly.

            The security guard spoke no English so when he gave commands in Japanese I had to give signals that I spoke no Japanese. He proceeded to point at my shoes and to take them off. I did so and he inspected them and had me put the shoes back on. Ten seconds later, after ten awkward seconds standing there, he had me take the shoes off again. I did so, and this time he wanted the socks off as well. This was a bit difficult as I had no seat. My carry-on bag was on a small table but that had not been inspected yet.

            It became a dance taking the shoes off and putting them back on. In my fears of what was to happen after being stopped, I must admit dancing with the shoes wasn’t a thought I had. However, my anxiety rose each time I got a leer of disapproval from the passengers boarding. They didn’t know my story and heck; I didn’t know my story at this point in time but they gawked at me as if I were suspected of trying to do something highly illegal to this plane.

            I’ll estimate the dance went on for 10 minutes. I could still hear the announcements at the gate and it was getting to the end of the boarding process. Then, another security man joined the one making me dance and he did speak English. Right away he wanted to see my shoes. Okay, at this point in time, autism spectrum or not, I’m sure anyone would be getting extremely anxious aa to what was going on. This went from minor annoyance to an event that could have severe ramifications. These two really thought something was up with my shoes and I was worried as to what this would be.

            The minutes went by, I heard the “last call for flight…” and I wasn’t on the plane yet. I have to be early and now I was late with no more gawkers walking by. It was just the two security men and me. At this point they now pointed at my bag and asked me to open it. Inside I had an Xbox and a laptop. Xbox? Okay, I’m a bad tourist as I traveled halfway around the world to enjoy some hours of Xbox as well. Much like the shoe dance, the contents came out, went back in, out, in out, and back in again.

            My heartrate was now to the max. Was I even going to fly home tonight, or was I going to get to see the inside of a jail cell in Tokyo for reasons I didn’t even know? The gate door was now closed. I tried to look at my cell phone, but they told me not to do that. I looked through the gate door and saw it was two minutes past the scheduled departure time. At any moment the plane door was going to close, I was sure of it, and I would be left behind with my two pals in the jet bridge.

            It wasn’t too much longer, but there was one last Xbox out of the bag request and this time the English-speaking security guard inspected it himself, made a radio call, and said I was good to go. I quickly put it back in my backpack and gave a shrugged shoulder sign and he said, “We have never seen an Xbox before. We know the Sony PlayStation.”

            With the reasoning behind the slight bit of being detained I headed towards the plane. My pulse was through the roof, and I could feel each beat in my mouth. My adrenaline was rocketing through my body, and I realized I was at a limit I had never been before. Speaking didn’t seem possible and while I maintained my composure in the inspection process I was now on the verge of hyperventilating. It didn’t get any easier when I got on the plane.

            The check of the clock showed 15 minutes past the scheduled departure time. Each pair of eyes on the plane leered at me as the sole reason they were late. All the overhead bins were closed and as I walked to my seat a flight attendant walked up. I pointed upward with a shrugged arms gesture because I couldn’t ask for help and he said, “Sir, if you had been on the plane earlier you wouldn’t have had this problem.” The confusion and rage I had felt in the jet bridge was now gushing outward. I contained it because I’m not going to do anything to make a scene, but to do that I become overly stoic and emotionless. The flight attendant saw this and asked, “Sir, where are you seated?” When I pointed to the seat right beside me, which wasn’t a first-class seat, but it wasn’t the main cabin, he suddenly became helpful and found a place and I took my seat.

            I wish I could say the story ended there, but when I took my seat, I continued to look forward without emotion. I focused on my breathing and tried to purge the adrenaline from my system. It had been a traumatic 50 or so minutes and I just wanted the plane to get in the air and have this night be forgotten. However, my mannerisms or facial expression, or lack thereof, raised the suspicion of one flight attendant who came over and asked, “Sir, are you okay?” I took a moment of thought on this and was a bit overly reflective as I tried to think of an answer. Was I okay? What was the criteria for being okay? Would being wanted for being team Xbox and not PlayStation be considered, okay? I thought of all the sarcastic answers I could think of but again, speech wasn’t happening, and the flight attendant left.

            “Oh, please let this episode end!” was what I thought as what appeared to be a goon squad approached. It was every flight attendant on the plane now crowded around where I was seated. The team lead led out, “Sir, can you fly?” Big mistake with that line because I was at the point of taking everything literally. While I do have 10 logged hours behind the stick of a single engine plane known as a Katana, I would not be anywhere near cockpit ready for an A350. My delay brough about a repeat from the first question and my facial expression was one of befuddlement. Then, finally, the flight attendant was direct and said, “Sir! You are acting strange! You were late on the plane and are you capable of being on this plane?”

            The words hurt. I… was acting strange? I thought that anyone would be in this situation. The person seated beside me was late getting onto the plane as well being one of the last on, and they saw what was going on with me and they chimed in. Perhaps this is a common event with security leaving Tokyo but having someone help out just a bit was a huge relief after this hour of confusion. Because of this I was able to nod at the question and the flight attendants departed and we made our way out onto the runway and into the black of night headed home.

            There are so many takeaways from this story. I’ve wondered since this event as to how much autism training flight attendants get. I know they have a stressful job and in the past two years it seems there’s a new story every week about unruly passengers. However, what skills are taught when a situation like mine arises? I also know security in airports and safety in the air is paramount. If the security process would’ve led with the direct issue at hand with the desire to inspect the Xbox, would that have lessened the ordeal? Maybe they also wanted to see how I reacted to certain commands? Perhaps.

            At the end of this story, I know this has not left me with a bad taste towards travel. I look forward to when I go back to Tokyo and I will not hesitate and jumping at a last minute offer if I have the chance. There is a risk in travel with social snafus happening, but they could happen anywhere. My love of exploring is much greater than the fear of another mystery stop in the jet bridge and I hope you too, the reader, when given the chance will take any chance you can get to step out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           

 

 

 

           

 

           

 

 

 

 

           

The Runaway Mind

I flew to Rapid City yesterday from Saint Louis, and the trip was one of the worst days of travel I ever had. It would've been three hours faster to drive rather than fly. As bad of an experience that was, there was a worse event caused by my own brain.

We were nearing the final 20 minutes and my dad sent a text asking if we could, "talk later". This within itself isn't anything, but when a person like myself has a brain that thinks of every possible outcome, a text like that was the stuff of nightmares.

I've had this my entire life, and my brain is way too fast. In the general public, when I hear someone say, "excuse me" I begin fearing every possible reason why they did. Are they about to rob me? Did I offend them? It's a sudden and drastic thought process that is much like a runaway train going downhill without brakes.

What did my dad want to talk about? We talk daily but he never sent a text with that tone. Something surely was wrong. My girlfriend tried to dismiss my fears but I knew I was right. Was it something medical? It had to be. That's all it could be, I concluded.

I saw the airport from the right side of the plane, and the ground couldn't come soon enough. When we landed, and deplaned, I'd be able to call my dad and I would get whatever horrible news was awaiting me on the other side of the phone.

We landed, the boarding doors took forever, and when I was in the jet-bridge I made the call and held my breath. My dad answered and I said, "what's wrong?" to which my dad was perplexed. There was nothing wrong. Everything was fine, and as so many times in my life the runaway mind ran away for no reason.

This is frustrating for me. I would love to not have my brain jump to cataclysmic results instantly. This isn't a process of escalation, but a sudden image of the worst case. There's no conscious thought on this, it's immediate and no matter how many times I'm proven wrong, my brain will still try and prepare for the worst. If you know someone like this do know it isn't a calculated assessment, but rather an immediate image of fear that is difficult to push aside and realize that things are 99.9% going to be okay.