There are a set of behaviours that to me, an autistic woman, feel insane. Akin to psychopath behaviour. Neurotypical’s are the weirdos and need to be pathologized more. The need for eye contact is bizarre, something only animals do when they want to fight. The need to smooth everything over and be avoid the truth for fear of hurting someones feelings, that actually just leaves everyone more confused and equally upset. And the importance of being on time.
I have never been on time. I will never be on time. Or if I am on time it is because I have sat at my front door fully dressed ready to go for the last hour ready to leave the house. For me to be on time is a full day affair, the deep abandoning of myself and my needs to be able to arrive to the meeting, coffee, shop, doctors office, etc. Its an anxious clench to try and remain in control of traffic, weather, wifi, finding my dogs kong and not avoiding spilling coffee on myself. When I do arrive I am thinking about my behaviour. Am I being girly enough? Am I too girly? Am I smiling, am I making eye contact? How much eye contact are they making with me? So I can try and match that because last week an man told me “the lights where on but no one was home” so that is feedback to integrate in order to not be too weird and make eye contact with this person. My senses are a lightning rod of sensory input, information and the other peoples feelings.
The effort to try and not be too weird is a failing result. I show up to the airport dressed in my leopard print jumper and explain to the security guards taking some kind of xray thing that I have clothing on under my clothing because I don’t like the fabric from the chairs touching my skin. I get pulled over in the security line. I fail the “be normal” test.
Whenever I talk about this I feel like I’m the asshole. How dare she think her time is better than mine to keep people waiting around. But I am fortunate that in my life I have surrounded myself with people that get it. That have known me long enough to know and understand that Phoebe is chronically late or weirdly early (please see waiting at my front door getting ready to leave). There is no such thing as on time. One of the more liberating things I have done for myself is give myself permission to just be late, a make it out of the house when I can. An understanding that I have no idea how long it takes me to leave the house and a couple of years being shut inside and told not to leave the house has made my decades worth of research and study on time completely obsolete.
Time is a construct. And I don’t say that in the weird stoner high school boyfriend sitting in his attic smoking weed out of a giant bong he’s named like its a pet, way. I say that in the time as we know it today was made for the old white guys vision of the world. Time is made to measure. Time is made to account. In Jenny Odells book Saving Time she discusses the colonization of time. That time to Indigenous cultures meant paying attention to the sun and going to bed when it was dark out. It meant paying attention to bodies and cycles. And the conclusion colonists came to was that the Indigenous measure of time was (spoiler alert!) “primitive”.
“Maybe there is no such thing as time; there are only moments, each with its own story.”
― Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants
I think the conflict and tension comes when people say they are down for the weird, and when I show up late for the meeting, they view is as a personal attack on their time. I don’t know how to say this nicely, and because I am autistic I say most things rather bluntly. Something men (its always fucking men!) tell me is bitchy. But, we are horrible at holding up our values when they make us feel uncomfortable. The mental gymnastics course we have from value to hypocritical action is fucking stunning in nerutypicals. We could do so much more in life to be understanding of peoples huminity, of the messy parts of being alive. So its confusing to me. That the people so down for the revolution are down with it, until it makes us uncomfortable. That we still uphold, and beat eachother with the ideas of white supremacy despite claiming the radical in our instagram stories and protests.
We remove peoples humanity at any change. The second they fall, they miss our standards. The moments where we are met with a feeling of uncomfortable.
Cancelling fits into the same boat (something we love to talk about on the pod). Sometimes Monday Phoebe has no idea of the spoons Thursday Phoebe is going to have and when it is at zero she is going to have to reschedule. Again, this isn’t a lack of respect for other peoples time and commitments. But a deep understanding of my own limits, needs, and pretty basic functioning.
This comment section is brutal and does not pass the vibe check.
I feel of of the pressures of time doublely with the onslaught of visions boards and News Years planning and even in reflection. The very specific parameters of this is the time of year we measure ourselves. To look beyond the made up ness of time we can look to seasons and find a new year there, we can look to celestial bodies and find a beginning we can look to our own internal clocks and find a refresh after our own 265 days around a sun.
In the past my favourite day of the year is usually January 1st. Sitting down and filling out my year compass or notion journal of my own making and being full on relfectly wellness bitch ™️ whilst drinking a green smoothie. But thats not me right now.
What I have learned in my years of permission giving and practise unhinging from time is that its a real practise. An opportunity and moment to be ok with the present, for what it is. For looking at the truth of the room and ourselves and the moment and crafting our time from that. That feels honest, that feels regenerative and that feels far more like liberation and creativity than trying to figure out how long it takes me to leave the house.
FINDINGS 🗺️
My annual “new years planning” workshop is “late” cause *gestures around me* time is fake! Join me for Right On Time! Right on time is less about trying to make a plan, but almost the deatching, the away from planning. To unplan and tap into feels only.
We’ll be starting with 15 min of journaling, a lesson with me (Phoebe!) and then open discussion + group coaching. 60 min total. 60 minutes of being together. 60 min of being seen, together. 🪄 Bring nothing but your sweet self, we’ll have a notion work book to move through but if you prefer good ole fashion pen and paper bring that! Join us while your cooking, painting, knitting etc. There is no “perfect” or “right” way to show up 😉
Workshops are for paid subscribers of the Creators Dispatch! Monthly subscribers get access to locked essays, and monthly community events. To join our community for $15 CAD/ month + get access to workshop recordings in podcast form, archive of paid essays + past episode of the Creators Dispatch podcast
Did you miss last week’s post?
xx
Phoebe 💕
*typos are left to reflect the fury passion and 3D humaness of being a passionate freak in the world – and you know not a robot *beep boop* I am just a human girlie living on earth with a mortal brain 🤸♀️(and also like, don’t be an ableist freak🥰)
Thanks for reading the Creators Dispatch. A weekly essay about the creative journey! Here I write about being an artist, human, angry woman on the internet and living in the dumpster fire of a world that says not to make your art. If what I say here inspires you (or pisses you off 🥰) share my work with the group chat, or your best friends neighbour. Word of mouth is the most special and radical way of sharing – plus it helps put the Zuck 🏄♂️ out of business 👼