Be Different Read online

  Praise for John Elder Robison’s

  Look Me in the Eye

  “There’s an endearing quality to Robison and his story.… Look Me in the Eye is often drolly funny and seldom angry or self-pitying. Even when describing his fear that he’d grow up to be a sociopathic killer, Robison brings a light touch to what could be construed as dark subject matter.… Robison is also a natural storyteller and engaging conversationalist.”

  —Boston Globe

  “Of course this book is brilliant; my big brother wrote it. But even if it hadn’t been created by my big, lumbering, swearing, unshaven ‘early man’ sibling, this is as sweet and funny and sad and true and heartfelt a memoir as one could find, utterly unspoiled, uninfluenced, and original.”

  —AUGUSTEN BURROUGHS

  “Deeply felt and often darkly funny, Look Me in the Eye is a delight.”

  —People (Critic’s Choice)

  “A fantastic life story told with grace, humor, and a bracing lack of sentimentality.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Not only does Robison share with his famous brother, Augusten Burroughs (Running with Scissors), a talent for writing; he also has that same deadpan, biting humor that’s so irresistible.”

  —ELLE

  “Robison seems likable, honest, and completely free of guile, qualities well served by writing that is lean, powerful in its descriptive accuracy and engaging in its understated humor.… Emotionally gripping.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “John Robison’s book is an immensely affecting account of a life lived according to his gifts rather than his limitations. His story provides ample evidence for my belief that individuals on the autistic spectrum are just as capable of rich and productive lives as anyone else.”

  —DANIEL TAMMET, author of Born on a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant

  “This is no misery memoir.… [Robison] is a gifted storyteller with a deadpan sense of humor and the book is a rollicking read.”

  —Times (London)

  “Robison’s lack of finesse with language is not only forgivable, but an asset to his story.… His rigid sentences are arguably more telling of his condition than if he had created the most graceful prose this side of Proust.”

  —Chicago Sun-Times

  “I hugely enjoyed reading Look Me in the Eye. This book is a wild roller-coaster ride.”

  —TEMPLE GRANDIN, author of Thinking in Pictures

  “Look Me in the Eye is a fantastic read that takes readers into the mind of an Aspergian both through its plot and through the calm, logical style in which Robison writes. Parents of children with Asperger’s or other forms of autism may find it inspiring that a fellow Aspergian overcame a difficult childhood to lead an exciting, fulfilling life like Robison’s. But even if you have no personal connections with Asperger’s, you’ll find that Robison—like his brother, Burroughs—has a life worth reading about.”

  —Daily Camera (Boulder)

  “An entertaining, provocative, and highly readable story by a great storyteller who happens to have Asperger’s … By the time Mr. Robison’s story is finished, you will rethink your own definition of normal, and it may spark a new appreciation of the untapped potential behind every quirky, awkward person who doesn’t quite fit in.”

  —TARA PARKER-POPE, “Well,” NYTimes.com

  “Look Me in the Eye is a wonderful surprise on so many levels: it is compassionate, funny, and deeply insightful. By the end, I realized my vision of the world had undergone a slight but permanent alteration; I had taken for granted that our behavioral conventions were meaningful, when in fact they are arbitrary. That he is able to illuminate something so simple (but hidden, and unalterable) proves that John Elder Robison is at least as good a writer as he is an engineer, if not better.”

  —HAVEN KIMMEL, author of A Girl Named Zippy

  Also by John Elder Robison

  Look Me in the Eye

  Copyright © 2011 by John Elder Robison

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Crown Archetype,

  an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of

  Random House, Inc., New York.

  www.crownpublishing.com

  Crown Archetype with colophon is a trademark of

  Random House, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Robison, John Elder.

  Be different : adventures of a free-range Aspergian with practical advice for Aspergians, misfits, families & teachers / John Elder Robison. — 1st ed.

  1. Asperger’s syndrome. 2. Difference (Psychology) 3. Marginality, Social. 4. Individual differences. 5. Robison, John Elder. I. Title.

  RC553.A88R63 2011

  616.85′8832—dc22

  2010053205

  eISBN: 978-0-307-88483-1

  Jacket design by Whitney G. Cookman

  Jacket photograph: Courtesy of the author

  v3.1

  For my son, Cubby,

  the very embodiment of being different

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Asperger’s and Me

  The Three Categories: Aspergian, Proto-Aspergian, and Nypical

  Finding Your Path to “Fitting In”

  Part 1: Rituals, Manners, and Quirks

  For the Love of Routine

  What’s in a Name?

  Mind Your Manners

  A Reason to Care

  What Are You Afraid Of?

  Part 2: Emotions

  (Not) Reading People

  What Is Love?

  Emotional Triggers

  Making and Keeping Friends

  Feeling Bad News

  Keeping Cool in a Crisis

  Part 3: Getting Along with Others

  The Center of the Universe

  The Art of Conversation

  Lobster Claws: Dealing with Bullies

  Animal Wariness

  Getting Chosen (and Becoming Choosable)

  Part 4: Tuned In: Sensitivity to the Nonhuman World

  Underwear with Teeth

  Seeing Music

  Managing Sensory Overload

  A Walk in the Woods

  A Day at the Races

  Part 5: Finding Your Gifts

  Learning Calculus

  I’m with the Band

  Plastic Brains

  Attention to Detail

  Secrets of My Success

  Appendix for Parents, Teachers, and Others of Their Ilk

  Asperger’s—the Definition

  Take the Test

  Index to Aspergian Behaviors

  For Further Study

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Introduction

  MADISON SQUARE GARDEN, 1979. The New York concert was the high point of KISS’s Dynasty tour, and we kicked it off with a bang and a flash. The band played loud enough to make your ears bleed, and our pyrotechnics would burn your eyebrows off if you got too close. We were five songs into the set. “Firehouse” had just ended. We killed the spotlights and got to work. Buzzes and clicks from the sound system suggested activity up on the blackened stage. The applause was over, and low ripples of noise washed through the audience as they waited for the next song.

  We had less than two minutes to make the change, and I’d prepared all day so I’d be ready to go when the lights went down. The crowd was calm; no one had started chanting. Yet. I had no intention of letting that mob of twenty thousand fans get restless, so I moved as quickly as I could. It was only a short jump for them to move from lighting matche
s and chanting to lighting the place on fire, so I finished up fast, before anything else could happen. I scampered off the edge of the stage as the musicians took their places in the dark.

  I turned around just in time to hear a pop followed by a flash of hard white light from stage left. The opening chords of “New York Groove” barked out as Ace Frehley turned to face the crowd. The main stage was still dark; a single spotlight illuminated KISS’s lead guitarist as he stood alone to play the opening riff. He’d been using an ordinary black Les Paul guitar for the past few songs. Now he held something different—something alive. The face of his instrument had transformed into a mirror glittering with a thousand lights. They moved and rippled in concert with the notes he played, a pattern of light that reached all the way to the back of the Garden.

  It was a guitar unlike any other. Even the sound was different. It had a hard metallic bite; and the sound of the strings was punctuated by ticks as the lights flashed beneath them. No one had seen anything remotely like that before.

  The crowd went wild as Ace’s light swept over them in time to the music. The traditional order was suddenly turned upside down. At every concert before, spotlights had illuminated the stage. Tonight, a musician made his own light, and threw it out over the audience. For that brief moment, in the face of all of KISS’s rock-and-roll thunder, simple radiance had stolen the show.

  It was my light shining from that stage. I had created that guitar, and many others, while working with rock-and-roll bands. I was twenty-two years old.

  That is a memory I cherish; one I know was made possible by Asperger’s syndrome, a difference inside my brain. I developed the skills to create that guitar only because of those differences.

  I love to think back on my time touring with KISS, but I have many other, more painful, memories that I’ve pushed to the back of my mind. I’ve moved on from my anxiety-ridden childhood, a time when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever “make it.” In the years since, I’ve proven to myself and to the world that through hard work, patience, diligence, and good fortune I could overcome the obstacles life, and my Aspergian brain, put in my path. I grew up to be a master musical technician, a business owner, an author, a father, and, most important, a functioning adult who is valued by his family, his friends, and society.

  Repressed memories of tougher times and the emotions associated with them may still come flooding back unexpectedly, spurred by an episode or event. That’s exactly what happened a few years ago as I watched Billy the Kid, a documentary about an undiagnosed Aspergian sixteen-year-old in a small-town Maine high school.

  In one scene, Billy moves warily among his classmates. As he walks the halls, you see his eyes dart from side to side. Constantly. Looking for threats. Like a lone deer in a forest filled with wolves. With a pang, I recognized his look the moment I saw it. That was me, in tenth grade, at Amherst High. Seeing his face, I experienced all the worry and anxiety of that time in my life in an instant. I knew exactly how he felt. Alone, scared. Sure no one around him understood him; not even sure if he understood himself.

  A few weeks later, I showed the film to a therapist friend, who dismissed Billy’s look with a pat explanation. “I’ve seen that before,” he said. “They call it furtive eye movements. It’s common in people on the autism spectrum. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  It doesn’t mean anything. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. When it comes to human interactions, I can’t think of a single instance where that is true. Every expression and gesture means something. It’s sometimes hard to figure out what the meaning is, but it always exists.

  I didn’t need any help figuring out what Billy was feeling. I have felt the same thing myself, too many times. He was wary, scanning the cafeteria continuously, watching for threats, just as I had done in high school. With a sense of certainty that’s rare in the world of psychology, I knew the therapist was wrong.

  Realizing that I had insight into what Billy was feeling, insight that a professional therapist, whom I trusted, didn’t have, confirmed that I had to share my journey with others. Individuals are labeled “different,” “geeky,” “abnormal,” or even “Aspergian” or “autistic” at a young age. Among other things, these labels suggest that the people around them—their family, friends, teachers, and counselors—can’t relate to their actions and expressions.

  That’s understandable, but it doesn’t mean that those actions aren’t motivated by legitimate feelings and desires, or that those of us who are different aren’t capable of achieving amazing things in our lifetime. There’s so much talk about the disability of Asperger’s, so much focus on what kids who are different can’t do, that I thought it was time for a book about what they CAN do.

  Thanks to my Asperger’s, I didn’t have much luck making friends as a kid. I always said or did the wrong thing. Grown-ups, especially teachers, didn’t know what to make of me. They knew I was smart, so they didn’t understand why I misbehaved and never fit in. I couldn’t do anything the way people told me to, which caused a ton of conflict. I had to find my own way.

  If my teachers wouldn’t, or couldn’t, teach me, I figured, I’d have to teach myself. And that’s exactly what I did. I learned from watching people, from reading a lot, and from experimentation. I developed tricks to overcome my weaknesses and exploit my strengths. The skills I’ve learned along the way, and my techniques for acquiring them in the first place, became the basis of this book.

  Despite a difficult childhood, I’ve achieved quite a few of the things regular people aspire to do, accomplishments that make me sound pretty normal. The thing is, because of my Asperger’s, my path to accomplishing those things ended up being a little different from the normal route; actually, it ended up a LOT different. But I still reached goals anyone, different or not, would be proud to achieve.

  If you were recently diagnosed with Asperger’s, or you have a child with Asperger’s, or you work with Asperger children or just plain geeky kids in schools or elsewhere, this is the book for you. I wrote Be Different because the existing prescriptive works on Asperger’s were—to be frank—mostly clinical and/or depressing. Not this one. I believe those of us with Asperger’s are here for a reason, and we have much to offer. This book will help you bring out those gifts.

  My stories will focus on me, a guy with Asperger’s, but even if you don’t share my diagnosis, you may still relate to these tales. Millions of people with ADHD, ADD, or any form of autism, and even common geeks, share many of my traits. After all, everyone feels like an outsider some of the time.

  I certainly hope reading my stories and learning about the ways I coped with problems and found my path entertain you while also giving some useful insights into dealing with your own quirks, or those of someone you care about.

  Asperger’s and Me

  Asperger’s came into my life when I was forty years old. I’m a pretty levelheaded guy, but I was totally shocked by the diagnosis. “Yep,” the doctors said, “you were born this way.” I could not believe I had reached middle age without knowing such a hugely important thing about myself. I was amazed to learn that Asperger’s is a kind of autism, because I thought everyone with autism was disabled. I’d always envisioned myself as a loner, a geek, and a misfit, but I would never have described myself as disabled. To me, being disabled meant having no legs or being unable to talk. Yet autism, and so Asperger’s, was a disability—that’s what the books said. I’m still not sure I believe that.

  The one shred of reassurance I got that first day was the knowledge that Asperger’s isn’t a terminal illness. “You’re not getting sicker,” they told me, “and it won’t kill you. You’re actually not sick at all; you’re just different.” Great, I thought. Very comforting.

  All of a sudden, the concept of “people like me” took on a whole new meaning. Moments before, I’d have described myself as a middle-aged white male. I was a successful business owner, a husband, and a father. Now I was a guy with Asperger’s. I was autistic. Everythin
g else seemed secondary to that new facet of me. This must be how it feels when you find you have cancer, I thought. I was still the same guy I had been the day before. I didn’t feel sick. Yet somehow, in a matter of seconds, my diagnosis had come to dominate my self-image.

  In the weeks that followed, I read everything I could about the diagnosis, and I began to relax. When I thought back on my life, Asperger’s explained so many things. School had been hard for me, and I’d done some pretty unusual stuff after dropping out. My new knowledge of Asperger’s brought those memories into focus, and I saw how the differences in my brain had shaped the course of my life in countless subtle ways. Yet I also realized that the success I enjoyed as an adult was real, and it wasn’t going away. In fact, as I moved forward with new knowledge and confidence, I started to see my life get better every day.

  Later, with the benefit of this new knowledge, I studied my Aspergian son, now twenty-one years old, and thought about how he too used to struggle in school and in social settings. He was diagnosed when he was sixteen, twenty-four years earlier than me. I look at him today, and I see how much he’s benefited from understanding how and why his brain is different from other folks’. In many ways, he’s the young man I could have been if only I had known what I had. I made it through life the hard way; he has the benefit of knowledge to rely on. That will make his path easier, and it can make yours easier, too.

  Observed from the outside, Asperger’s is a series of quirks and behavioral aberrations. Aspergians are not physically disabled, though an observant person might pick us out of a crowd by our unusual gait or even by our expressions. Most Aspergians possess all the body parts and basic abilities for the full range of human functions. We’re also complete on the inside. When today’s brain scientists talk Asperger’s, there’s no mention of damage—just difference. Neurologists have not identified anything that’s missing or ruined in the Asperger brain. That’s a very important fact. We are not like the unfortunate people who’ve lost millions of neurons through strokes, drinking, lead poisoning, or accidental injury. Our brains are complete; it’s just the interconnections that are different.