So he said, “You have a lot of autism characteristics, but I have young patients who can barely communicate. And you have a lot of ADHD characteristics, but I see young kids who run around this office touching everything.” He said a couple of other things I can’t share about why a lifelong feeling of not quite fitting in. But my takeaway is, “You’re too old and accomplished for autism and ADHD, no matter what the test results say.”
Thankfully, I’ve spent much of my adult life with people in a bookish hobby that involves some math. I watch gamers sit down blank-faced at a table with strangers, shy at first, then blossom as their fictional characters take shape and the shared story unfolds. Or at a board game or card game event.
They linger afterward, chatting excitedly as they gather up their dice and stand with their backpacks in hand. New friendships are made right there, and in the halls later I see them wave and smile at one another as they pass on their way to other game events. Even later, I see them cross paths at other game conventions, stopping to say something like, “Hi! Weren’t you in that game where we discovered the mummy in Grant’s Tomb?”
To me, most of life feels like a masked ball, with dance steps I hardly know, to music in an alien time signature. Or like a square dance where the tunes are so repetitive and the conversation so predictable that I can barely keep my eyes open and my smile up, where I feel like a lump in an otherwise smooth bowl of oatmeal.
Old, friendly, successful; and nonetheless out of place in the world at large. Mind wandering, leg jiggling, wishing I were at home writing or reading, wishing my presence wasn’t making other people uncomfortable. A zebra in a herd of horses. Or maybe just a donkey. You be the judge.
I’m writing this for people who feel the same. There are more of us like you than you might notice. I hope to see you at the next game event. You’re always welcome at my table.
