Growing up

A friend recently posted a blog on getting old. It got me thinking.

When I was a child, I divided people into 3 neat, simple categories: children like myself, grown-ups (people who were in charge) and old people (which, to my young mind, was anyone over the age of 60). 

I vaguely knew that one day, I'd become a grown-up. One day I'd have a job and know exactly what I'd be doing. I'd be able to drive a car. I'd get married and have children. I'd have a house. I'd be doing what grown-ups do.
 
As the years passed, I started to realise a few things.

Firstly, one does not simply wake up one day - suddenly an adult. I haven't intrinsically changed - I'm still the same person I was as a 10-year-old. I still feel awkward and vulnerable. I still love books. I can still get so engrossed in something that I forget about everything else and fail to hear someone talking to me.  I have learnt new things, and lived through many experiences, both good and bad, and acquired new skills and understanding. But I'm still the same deep down.

Second, one does not naturally know how to do what grown-ups do. The learning of some skills can be slow and difficult. See my post about driving! You don't always know what you're doing - at times you don't feel like you're in control of anything at all. At work, you can feel completely incompetent. And don't let me get started on relationships - grown-ups all seemed to be married like it's the easiest thing on earth, and in films or books, falling in love is one of the most natural things there are. Yeah, right. More often than not, the person you're pining after does not reciprocate, or you don't even know how to engage.

Thirdly, being a grown-up can be real tough. Your boss can be horrible to you. Your job can be exhausting. Relationships, romantic or not, require constant effort (mostly worth it, though!). Having a house means paying a mortgage, or at least rent. Bills and paperwork can swamp you.

To top it all, 2 years ago, my mother turned 60. Remember that childhood world-view were old people were people over 60? But my mother cannot possibly be old. That would cause the whole universe to collaspe on itself, surely.

I guess I should change my definition of old.

Because lovely people deserve a smile.

This one smile is especially for my friend joef2256. 

Unfortunately my cat, Isaac, didn't want to smile. He's moody like that!

Driving anxieties

I am 34 and I still don't have a driving license. This often gets me perplexed looks from people, and endless lecturing about how I really should get around to it.

It isn't all that simple.

I remember the first times I tried driving a car when I was about 17. I remember the terror as I felt the strength of the engine - a strength I was supposed to be able to control. I remember the car jumping as I stalled it, or roaring angrily when I stepped on the accelerator pedal. I hated it.

Then I went away to study, and from then on, I only lived in big towns with good public transport. It was very convenient. I never had to worry about driving - buses, trains, a bike, or asking friends for a lift worked just fine. Moreover, it seemed to me that the environmental cost of driving a car was too high, and that not driving was a responsible thing to do. In any case, I couldn't afford to maintain a car.

However, 2 years ago, I moved back to my parents', who live in the countryside, and my troubles began. Public transport is virtually non-existent, and access to basic facilities such as banks, post offices or shops involves at least a 15-minute drive. I became entirely dependent on my parents to get anywhere. I had no choice. I had to start learning how to drive.

The theory test wasn't a problem. I've always been a fast learner when it comes to purely academic skills. I studied the rules, booked the test, passed it. Simple. Putting it into practise, there's the rub.

I got in touch with a driving instructor, a very kind and patient lady. On my first day, we sat in the car for half an hour while she reassured me that it was going to be OK.

At first, even 20mph felt like I was going way too fast. Changing gears was choppy at best. Surely the car was a vicious beast that had no kind intentions towards me whatsoever. The most difficult thing to handle, though, was (and still is) other drivers. They're not necessarily bad drivers (although many are), but having to constantly take into account what someone else might do is exhausting to me. Passing each other on anything that isn't a main road is terrifying, because perspective makes me feel like that there isn't room enough. My instructor gave me a good tip, though. "Just look straight ahead at where you need to go, look as far ahead as you can; and you'll naturally steer the car in the right direction. Take notice of obstacles but don't dwell on them, because then you'd steer towards what you're focusing on." That helped. I made slow progress for a while, then winter happened - snow, black ice. I stopped the lessons and let time pass.

When I met Nicholas, he soon offered to help. I have to say he's the best driving instructor ever. He is calm and patient whatever the circumstances, and lets me learn at my own pace. He knows when to take me out of my comfort zone, but doesn't pushes me beyond my limits. I have made amazing progress since I first started... almost two years ago.

Two years seems like a long time to learn such a basic skill, right? Well, with Asperger's syndrome, it's not as basic as that. Driving involves concentrating on several things at once - the layout of the road, traffic signs, other users, changing gears, using indicators or wipers - all of this coming to my brain very fast, and my brain needs more time than most people to process information! It also requires anticipating, having to cope with constantly changing situations, and adjusting my actions accordingly, all things I struggle with. If it were as simple as, "If A happens, I must do B", I would be fine - but on the road lots of different things happen everytime and each scenario can feel like learning from scratch all over again. I took the test a few weeks ago and failed because a situation I wasn't prepared for arose and I reacted wrongly.

I am not giving up, though. I have come a long way, and I can drive in many contexts even though it causes me a lot of stress and often leaves me exhausted afterwards. Anxieties can be overcome, even with Asperger's.

Up

We arrived at the gîte after a 12 hour drive. We were both exhausted, but really glad to be there.

Nicholas has been coming here for years. You see, he's a keen cyclist. He owns a sleek white race bike that he rides whenever the weather permits, and the highlight of his year is to spend two to three weeks here, cycling up famed mountain passes such as the Col de l'Izoard, the Col du Galibier, or the Col Agnel, all of which regularly feature on the Tour de France. Nicholas is short (5'3''), but lean and muscular, which makes him an excellent amateur climber (and even really good puncher, for those familiar with the terminology). So the French Alps are a paradise for him.

I, on the other hand, fell in love with the Alps as a teen, when my parents sent me to a holiday youth camp there. I discovered the peaceful elation of ascending steep slopes as magnificent sceneries are slowly unveiled. I feel a strong fascination for those high, ragged rocks, those majestic peaks and forbidding-looking cliffs. I can walk for hours and feel like no time has passed at all.

This, of course, means Nicholas and I share a passion for mountains, even though we express said passion differently!

The village we stay in is tucked away in a high valley near Briançon. There is just one street running through it, and each house is adorned with a big sloping roof, like some kind of wizard's hat. Two churches face each other: the tall steeple of the catholic church and the stocky protestant temple. One shop sells maps and souvenirs; in the other one, we buy fresh French cheese and bread.

The owner of our gîte is called Mr Simond. He has a round, jolly, weather-beaten face and wears a worn-out cotton sun hat pulled almost down to his bushy eyebrows. I have never seen him without that hat - in fact, I am convinced he sleeps in it!

In his cheerful, sunny Southern French accent, he greets us and hands us the key. The cozy studio flat that will be our home for the next two weeks overlooks the valley and I can't wait for tomorrow... To go "up". But tonight we need to sleep.

And while I'm at it... (related to last post)

This is an ad for menstruation products I like. It's hilariously funny!

 

This post is about menstruation. Get over it.

I'm feeling rather annoyed right now. Why? Because I stumbled across this article, and it made me cringe. But not for the reasons you might think.

The article presents all the clichés about menstruation: it makes women bitchy and moody, makes them irrational (or even more irrational than usual, let's maintain those sexist stereotypes, right?), causes them to have weird cravings, stops them from doing what they usually enjoy, it's messy and gross. Some parts made me think I was given advice about some kind of disease - stay away from certain foods, have painkillers ready...

Unfortunately, this kind of view is perpetuated by feminine hygiene adverts. Menstruation is presented as dirty, smelly and messy, to the point of needing "odour absorber technology" in pads, while using a blue liquid that bears not resemblance to blood whatsoever when showing you how absorbant a pad is.

Newsflash: menstruation is not a disease. It's not a curse. It's not something to be ashamed of. It's a healthy natural process a women's body goes through every month. It means she is able to bear children. If anything, it ought to be celebrated - we women are able to give life, isn't that fantastic?

Now I'll admit that I may be biaised. I am fortunate enough that I don't get menstrual cramps - only a light tension in my lower abdomen on the day my period starts. I honestly feel sorry for women who get cramps, I'm pretty sure they're awful (the cramps, not the women). And I don't seem to get PMS either.

And that's another thing that really irks me. I am a human being. I am entitled to having emotions, whether I am on my period or not. If, when someone displays anger, they're asked "jokingly" whether they're on their period, I feel offended. Why exactly would menstruation turn us into irrational, irate monsters?

I am begining to wonder whether some (not all - I do aknowledge the reality of cramps for some women) of those symptoms may not be psychosomatic. If we're being constantly brainwashed into thinking that periods are horrible and make women cranky, of course we're going to feel rubbish about it.

Menstruation is treated as something dirty and shameful. Why is that? It's only blood, for heaven's sake. You have about 10 pints of blood in your veins, and actually, it's pretty darn useful. It delivers nutrients and oxygen to your cells and organs and transports waste back to where it can be disposed of (including carbon dioxide). White blood cells fight infections; platelet cells cover an open wound so you can stop bleeding and start healing. Blood is not just extremely useful, it's vital. So why should we be grossed out or freaked out if we lose a little bit of it each month?

OK, it stains. But it's no harder to cleanse than tomato sauce. Do you feel grossed out when you have to scrub off a tomato sauce stain? I didn't think so!

We need to stop feeling ashamed of natural bodily processes. We need to stop feeling ashamed of our bodies! Our bodies are wonderfully intricate machines that function fantastically well and have an amazing ability to self-repair within certain limits. Our bodies are beautiful - all of our bodies - yes, including vaginas and ovaries.

I don't feel I should apologize for discussing this. We need to get over ourselves and embrace our womanhood - all of it.