Truth is Funny.

Truth is funny.

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Parent 1: Would you like grape juice?  We also have V8.

Guest: I'd love some V8.

Teen Child: You know, maybe I should try that.  What's it like?

Parent 1: It 's a juice blend, but of all different kind of vegetable juices instead of fruit.

Parent 2: It's a sort of health drink, like they'd make you at a juice bar.

Guest: it's like drinking cold spaghetti sauce, only thinner.

[Silence.]

Teen Child: ...seriously?

Parents 1 & 2: Yes.

Lightening Rod

Let me explain what we really know about autoimmune disorders.

Our language has this goofy magic-mystic separation between "mental" and "physical".  Reality doesn't.  The chemistry and electricity and neurology of you is every bit as physical as your blood and bones and it's all intertwined and all of you from the neck down participates in what's happening from the neck up just like everything from the neck up participates all the way down to your toes.

An autoimmune disease means your body has tried to kill you.

And autoimmune disorders are most crazy-common in people who are survivors of trauma currently living under conditions of stress.  

Y'know, the same people at highest risk of their brains trying to kill them.  (Which isn't actually that surprising if one understands that everything is physical and intertwined and that the leading current evidence is that depression itself is just another trauma-catalyzed immune disorder.)

And what we're pretty consistently seeing--

which, again, makes perfect sense when one thinks about it--

is, if you survive that particular disease, and keep on trucking with your trauma and your stress...

...sooner or later your body is going to try to kill you again.

By middle age, I had survived two life-threatening autoimmune conditions... so far.  Three if they are right about depression.  

This isn't freakish, or bad luck, or even unlikely.  

What is unlikely is that I will get through the next ten years without it happening again.

Heard in My Hiome

"Thank you for understanding.  And, there's a chicken puppet behind you."

Ice-picks Can Kill

What if, instead of asking new people "What do you do?"

--which actually means, "How do you make your money?" and "Where do you rank on the status pole?" and boils down to a really bad way of trying to find out "What can you do for me?" and is a really inaccurate way of trying to find out "How much should I care about saying the wrong thing to you?"

--what if, instead, we asked new people "What are your interests?"

Frankly, finding out whether and how well someone can talk about what they care about, and what values we may have in common with them, seems like a *much* more useful and safer way to break the ice.

My friend Solomon calls this, "Asking people what they *love* to do."

Neuro-diversity Is...

Someone online asked for clarity about the term "Neuro-Diverse."  The truth is NeuroDiverse is still a new term, still finding its niche, and that as it finds its way into general usage it will come to mean what the most people want it to mean.  But I have a pretty heavy stake in what I need it to mean, and a very clear understanding of the identity-experience so many of us have needed a name for for so long.

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What Neuro-Diversity is:

We suck at internalizing Culture.

We have rely on conscious observation and analysis to try to catch up with what is tacit second nature to those around us.

We end up with rigid rules where flexibility is needed or flexibility where it is "supposed to be" unthinkable.  

We are moving through a parallel universe in which everything is happening at different volumes, different textures, different speeds, and some things aren't happening at all.

Our body language, posture, expressions, the very lines on our faces are formed from hundreds of thousands of daily physical responses that those around us don't need.

Our train of thought is a wooden roller coaster submarine monorail trolley, it does not use the standard tracks.  We may have full comprehension and verbal skills and still be unable to follow a conventional explanation or provide an explanation others can follow.

The fact that we relate differently to these *three overlapping areas*-- 

social constructions, sensory environment, and cognitive navigation

IS our common ground.  

Not our wildly diverse symptoms, diagnoses, levels of functionality. attitudes, or coping tools, but the fact that we "don't fit."  We are "out of sync."  There's "something off" about us.  We don't "read right."  We come from the Uncanny Valley and the Neuro-typical (Neuro-normative, Neuro-privileged) frequently compare what is normal for us to the actions and attitudes of critters or robots.

And because of this, those of us neurodiverse from birth grew up as the natural targets of bullies of every kind, and age, and we *always* bear the additional complications of trauma and shame.

And those of us neurodiverse from brain injury *always* bear the additional complications of grief and humiliation. 

That is what it is to be Neurodiverse.

Jerk-First Language

A gentle reminder:

We've all heard "there's no such thing as a cyclist".  

There are people on bikes, and people in cars, and people walking.

Also, bullies on bikes, and bullies in cars, and bullies walking.

The vitriolic spewed at people on bicycles, the threatening hand gestures, the deliberately dangerous driving and the criminally negligent driving, the unending excuses based on what some people on bicycles do-- 

None of that comes with being on a bicycle.  

None of that comes from bikes and cars being together.

All of that comes from having bullies in cars.  

I know this for a fact because my family vehicle isn't a bike but a car driven by a person with disabilities, with slow reaction time.  We achieve the speed limit only under ideal conditions.  We keep a giant buffer zone.  We go slower in circumstances involving any degree of darkness, weirdness,  uncertainty, or weather.  We are rigorous about pulling over when a couple-three cars stack up behind us.

And every trip is a lesson in the worst of humanity.  Every trip we are hated, screamed at, physically threatened, and endangered by bullies in cars who will go as far as scraping and bumping our vehicle.  My husband's body is very fragile; a bad pothole can leave him barely able to get home and then incapacitated for several days.   He lives with serious PTSD, some of which comes straight from the life-changing car accidents he has survived (pedestrian-in-crosswalk, car-rear-ended-at-red-light).  It is positively common for him to have to pull over to wait until he can stop shaking enough to safely continue... and this is on known routes within ten minutes of home.

Now, this is not a big pity party-- this is a reminder that those same bullies in cars who verbally and physically threaten people on bikes are also spewing hate and violence at people who drive slowly.  It's not about the bikes.  Whatever excuses they make for the way they behave to you, or me, or my husband; are all just the bully telling the victim "you have this coming."

And no amount of bike-education is going to get through that, because it's not about the bike, it's about the bully who wants what they want when they want it without having to care what the cost is to others.  

Bike-education is for people in cars who actually want to be good drivers and need help.  Reflective gear and sharrows and clear signaling are all for people in cars who want to be good drivers and need help.  Being a good representative is about strengthening communication with people in cars who want to be good drivers.  

All of these are really important tools for the majority of people in cars, but for the situations that scare us most, those people who actively threaten us, who don't want to act responsibly, don't want to pay attention, and above all don't want to slow down, we need an entirely different toolbox.

For them, we need asshole-education.

That means sharing strategies for behaving in asshole-resiliant ways and building asshole-resistant infrastructure and strengthening  asshole-retardant law enforcement.

It also means powering that infrastructure and law enforcement by pulling in solidarity from our communal experience with people in cars who may not know jack about what it is like to travel on a bike but who have an extensive understanding of the dangers of bullies in cars.  

It means reframing the conversation to build coalition lines along the type of personal behavior instead of the type of vehicle.   

It means acknowledging the existence of the bullies on bikes and calling out the danger they present to other people-- on bikes, on foot, and in cars.  

It means including bike-savvy specifics on how to recognize and deal with the bullies on bike.   

And it means working in our own lives, with our choices and our children, to change our culture so that the whole underlying value of "wanting to get what you want when you want it without having to care what the cost is" isn't a high-status, desirable ideal anymore.

Tis the season when the homeless ride bicycles.

Tis the season when the homeless ride bicycles.  Last time we saw our friend J, she had a yellow bike and her first boyfriend in four years, and a grin like a cat in the cream.   Third stool deli guy showed up at the deli near closing last night with a bike strapped down with bags *and a helmet*, which is unheard of.  I'm pretty sure the so-skinny bald guy with his bike outside VV yesterday was the same we saw-- well, nevermind about that.

When I first moved here I assumed there was a charity that distributed bikes to the homeless each summer.  Bicycles show up all over the streets at this time of year; some tie up bags on them and some succeed in bringing them everywhere, a temporary magical fifth limb.  Most treat them as ephemera, a summer love affair, here until they're gone.  A flirtation with freedom.  You find them left leaning against trees and fences.  There are never any locks.

And I'd like to put this up without any additional commentary or judgement.  My own double standard sends me spinning, here.  Under most circumstances, my antipathy for bicycle thieves is fanatic as a cowboy's hatred of horse thieves.  Yet I can't extend that ferocity to the first moment I saw S on a bike, standing up on the pedals coasting downhill with his long hair sailing behind him and his face lit up looking thirty years younger.  

Oh, that ability to lift up out of your body and move, and sail, and go where you want to go when you want to go there-- to feel your body working on becoming strong again, to choose your aches and pains.  I have spent a life on foot, years sick and in pain; and I have felt the delirious joy of lifting up out of that, to a bike.  So I buy another lock and I register my serial number and I look into marking my own bike with photographs of me, and I imagine the total devastation I would experience if my bike were stolen... and I still smile at every homeless person I see lit up with joy on a bicycle.

There should be a charity that passes out bicycles to the homeless in the spring.