Autism & Muses

So, I'm heading into the last stretch of my foundation degree.  

In my final essay I'm trying to coax words into well-behaved creatures that actually mean something.  I'm quite happy to let them thrum with a little wildness, as long as they help me jitterbug across the finish line.  Written words are my semi-feral friends.

I also have a presentation to prepare.  I'm confident enough to elaborate my points creatively, using my crocheted throws, with their many layers, and my paintings that make zero sense until they're finished.  Energy, colour, chaos and direction will illuminate my talk.

I'm really proud that, at the age of 51, my spirit of adventure and curiosity is exponentially burning.  My age has become an advantage rather than a limitation.

This is not what's keeping me awake at night.

It's the viva.

In the viva, I will sit before a panel and have to account for myself, without the shield of written words or power points.  There will be no props.  I will have to explain how I work, why I work, and just exactly who I think I am.  

I'd rather be Vladamir Putin's personal bum licker.

The prospect of the viva has re-awakened a stubborn core belief that I don't seem to have quite excavated yet.  Hate that.

As my training taught me, I leaned into the anxiety and discovered that I'm terrified of being a fake.  And even worse, being outed as a fake.  When my tutors discover that I tried to fool them by being clever, interesting and competent, they'll be disgusted by my boring, useless neediness.  My fear is that they'll reject the real, exposed me.  That my vulnerable self will be abandoned.

This is an opportunuty for me to embrace more layers of my shadow.  I know how important it is to integrate my unconscious so that it doesn't reactively run the show.    

It's just that sometimes I really wish I was a Nepalese goat herder.

                                                                           

Being fully human is insane.

Luckily, I have a Finian-shaped muse who I look to for inspiration.  He manages the lunacy of  this world by wearing pyjamas all day and being wholly authentic.  His inner world is his outer world.   He doesn't need defences to protect him from being unacceptable.  And I get to live with him every day.

It's about being able to integrate paradoxes.  Owning my fear doesn't magic it away, but it IS liberating.  So I get to feel scared and free at the same time.  What a ridiculous mindfuck.

I'm putting together a post-viva recovery kit of chocolate, pyjamas (naturally) and rioja.  And even though they don't know it yet, my husband is going to give me foot massages, and my daughter is going to binge-watch Brooklyn 99 with me.  And Finian will continue to muse me.

Holy props, Batman!