Perhaps if I stare at this blank page a bit longer it will catch fire, or a butterfly will alight on it, or a newsletter post will write itself. Or not. Inertia means I cannot walk away to watch a telly programme (I would if I was in the middle of a series but the thought of the brain-energy required to start and choose a new one is too much). Similarly I’ve only just started a new book and am not in the flow of it yet. It’s dark and I don’t fancy a walk. I exhausted my brain a bit earlier by memorising new poems for a theatre piece I’m doing and I don’t have handy-type hobbies that could take my brain away. I’m quite in awe of people who knit or make jigsaws or crochet life-size models of the Taj Mahal in their spare time. My perennial other activity would of course be to scroll through phone apps. But I have put my device in the other room and am going to leave it there.
One of the downsides of living on my own is that I have to think of my own distracting tasks. I would be so very up for someone hoving into view with a cup of tea and the offer of helping them complete a crossword or unravel their existential crisis or solve the mystery of whatever happened to white dog poo. I have to be self-motivated and self-directed when there’s nothing in the diary. As I’ve got older I’ve got better at this. There’s now a possible template in my head for activities I could do; Self-care: Walk or swim or eat or meditate. Work: Current projects (and I have had quite a few deadlines lately- enough to make me forget what it’s like to have to fill blank diary space). There are also some very empty templates which other people seem to possess but I don’t; Hobbies: Not really, as mentioned above. Contact people: To be honest, this tends not to spontaneously occur to me as an activity. Plan future things: This also is not actually on the template.
I’ve noticed that in particular, on ADHD online forums, I see other people saying “But what on earth are we supposed to do with days. I mean whole DAYS, full of HOURS?”. For people with particularly busy work and family lives this dilemma doesn’t arise. For some others, like my late stepmum, they solve it with routines and busywork. She was always painting something or dusting or gardening or mending or just generally pottering about. But I think the underlying issue for some of us is lacking “Automatism”. I think this is the right word. There isn’t as much online about it as I’d have hoped. I first heard about it in a lecture on ADHD by a researcher. It’s the mental process by which things just happen automatically. Routines, habits, journeys, any processes. Many of us neurodivergent folk don’t have it.
So for example, apparently most people don’t have to consciously think about brushing their teeth. It’ll come to bedtime, there’ll be a toothbrush and some toothpaste by the sink. With no conscious thought, they’re suddenly foaming mintily at the mouth. Whereas some of us have to think “Ah- it’s bedtime. I must now brush my teeth. Because then my gums won’t explode. Okay, where’s the toothbrush? I think I’ll do it for a minute”. I’m exaggerating a bit, but not much. Imagine how much extra energy it takes up to have to do that for dozens and dozens of processes each day. Including the processes of actually working out how to live in a day. Eleanor Roosevelt said “With each day comes new strength and new thoughts”. For some of us, the thoughts are so new, it’s as if we’ve never had a day to figure out what to do with before. “Gosh, I’ve woken up. Here’s another of those day things again. Who knew?”.
And I’ve now ventured outside this filling page to find a reference to what it turns out is called Automacity Which apparently is not just somewhere you go on an Easter weekend to buy a new car. It says that the opposite of these auto-pilot processes is mindfulness. Which sounds good. That must mean we neurodivergent folk are deeply immersed in the moment, overflowing with the joy and resonance of the now. Actually of course, it can mean that. The ability to be deeply present is one of the things I value most about many of my neurokin. But the other opposite, as I have indicated, is having to think consciously about what most other people take for granted; “Crumbs, has teatime happened again? The need to eat something? It’s only occurred approximately fifteen thousand other times before today. I’m shocked.”
I will end with a quote by a writer who was a genius about writing of and from within the present moment and feels like kin to those of us who are quirkier of brain. And although its the Easter rather than the summer holidays, it might be doubly timely now;
This I say is the present moment; this is the first day of the summer holidays. This is part of the emerging monster to whom we are attached. The hatchet must fall on the block; the oak must be cleft to the centre. The weight of the world is on my shoulders.