Solitude

 Neuronormative society seemingly believes solitude unhealthy and that urban living equals happiness. Not from an autistic point of view.

The sereness of nature and solitude of mind and body has had a long tradition within literature, from the idyllic pastoral life of the Romantic Period to the eco-facist arguments of Blut und Boden (blood and soil) and redemtion of the soil to the trend Cottage Core during the Covid pandemic, to be brief. Nature has been seen as a balm to illness and mental instability for eons, but especially emerging as society moved from the country to the city in search of prosperity or labor. The countryside became idealized and somewhere city folk went for rest and recreation (Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens, Johanna Spyri, Trygve Gulbranssen, Thomas Hardy) to escape urban monotony. American writer and naturalist Henry Thoreau famously embodied The Return to Nature as he built a log cabin by Walden Pond outside Boston (detailed in his 1854 book Walden) and lived there for two years, wholly abstaining from eighteenth century living and being self-reliant. Embodying the modern Cottage Core, Zero Waste and simple living aesthetics, if you will. 

To sever the link so wholly to urban living that cottage living by a pond would be ideal, might sound rabid to the average neurotypical, but not your average autistic person. Silence. Solitude. Serenity. Three ideal concepts away from the hubbub of urban life, with a constant human presence and hum of lights, sounds and social interaction. Perhaps autistic solitude to the neurotypical would turn into misanthropy in time, but that would entail living in a world in which one is not traumatized by living in a world not designed for you. A chance denied many autistic people, diagnosed as undiagnosed, as growing up different and autistic more often than not leads to Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD) and hypervigilance. 

And people wonder why a solitary woodsy life is prefered? If every day of your life, you received a punch to the stomach every time you ventured out your front door, you'd start going out that door with a lot more caution. A solitary life is a predictable life, perhaps a lonely life, but so was lighthouse keepers' lives in the 1800s. The monotony and solitude of lighthousekeeping made many go insane, but that is not at all comparable to the wish of solitude for solitude's sake. The phenomenon of Being Perceived (see my post on this) is all too pervasive amongst autistic people and in an urban environment, being perceived is a packaged deal. Cameras and people see you every day, everywhere and while you are passively observed, the act of staring is still in motion. 

But solitude at what price, curious minds might ask? One cannot live by air and wind alone. In this capitalist techno-feudal time marred by horrors, one must derive a source of income amidst one's solitude. Should one live by wits alone? Perhaps the urge to let one's passions and interests stake one's path? Would that be sustainable and livable in this time? Is remote work even feasible? If the mind is neurodivergent, what would commutes do to their overall health? An 8-4 job would drain the poor soul dry within months, even with the tiniest of accomodations. Solitude does not mean impairment; a solitary mind amidst quietude does valuable things in silence, even away from the desk. 

Is solitude a temporary choice? Like it was of old? A thing to do when one's nerves or health was damaged by the buzzle of city life and people went to the country to recuperate? Not to dwell in obscurity and rurality forever, but eventually return refreshed in country garb and speech, despising the urban hussle? In literature, perhaps, but not in this life. A jest, surely. The world has become indestinguishable from country to country, as human habit changes little. A slower life, then. Rising and sleeping with the light and dark, perhaps developing a biphasic sleep schedule, as was done before the advent of electricity. The night is long, after all, and sound carries well with no sound to impede it. All but musings for now.

The concept of autistic and crip time might facture into the notion and temporality of solitude. Both adress the concept of different time perception as it diverges from the neurotypical and ablebodied understanding. To the autistic mind, time is non-linear, fluid and liminal; hours fly by like leaves, while seconds and minutes stretch on for eternity. Time blindness (familiar to ADHD cousins) too plays its part, yet it is the challenge of estimating the passage of time that is difficult. Solitude and rural living thus seem to some well equipped: the quiet and almost slowed down feeling tickles the autistic brain and leaves room for rest and slow living, in addition to replenishing lost energy. Thus it is the perfect marriage of living and time, encouraging a solitary living on one's own clock, so to speak. However, time management in relation to academic, professional or outsider expectations can be daunting, as the abstract nature of time causes overwhelm, anxiety or shutdowns if prodded enough times. Not to mention the interplay of sensory sensitivities with the temporal landscape, where exposure to adverse stimuli (loud noises, unpleasant smells etc) seems to last much longer than first believed. 

The persistent belief, then, that a life well spent is to spend it in proximity to an urban environment and have a tonne of acquaintances to hang out with after a workday, is a neurotypical expectation. Autistic people are much more at ease in one-on-one interactions or in small groups. An accomodationless workday with commute depleats daily energy which leads to no desire to socialize on top of it all. Hence, blessed solitude to repleat that missing energy. A necessary relief in a chaotic and destructive world.