For the “read aloud” version, please click the link above☝🏼
In mid-February 2021, my son and I watched the live feed from the NASA control room as the newest Mars rover made its final descent onto the red planet.
Before its mission could truly begin, Perseverance had traveled 300 million miles for over six months, and would still have to survive this highly precarious landing. I don’t know if my son fully grasped the enormity of the moment.
But I was surprised to find myself in tears.
Maybe I was simply consumed by the tension built up in those “seven minutes of terror” and the explosion of relief and joy that followed.
Perhaps I became disoriented watching a vehicle reach a distant planet when I have not ventured more that 20 miles from my own home in months.
Surely, I was moved to see the number of women involved – in that control room and interviewed as part of the mission’s scientific and technical teams.
Maybe I cried wondering what might have been if I had chosen those astronomy labs in college, the ones I didn’t take because they conflicted with my evening theatre rehearsals.
Perhaps I felt a wistful craving to be a member of that kind of smart and creative team, involved in a collaborative striving toward some inspiring goal.
Possibly, I grieved a bit for my young adult, who is on a very different trajectory from others his age plotting to make their own contributions to science or the arts.
Maybe I had a stronger sense of our separation from the outside world – an isolation exacerbated by the pandemic, but very much a part of our “usual” autism life. (C’mon, my new hack for keeping my toilet paper within reach since my son likes to move to roll holder is literally not on the same planet as the discoveries these people are making.)
Perhaps all these thoughts combined to make me feel both insignificant and proudly connected to the promise of what humans can achieve.
Undoubtedly, my tearful reaction had something to do with turning 50 today.
My husband and I have been daydreaming about what we want to be when we grow up.
We are coming into our “middle age” at an interesting shift in time, as the world cautiously steps out into a post-pandemic world. Being at home for a year has heightened the itch to find something more creative and fulfilling beyond the day-to-day responsibilities of taking care of ourselves physically and financially.
We want to be more purposeful in how we use our time, seek out joy more actively, and find new avenues for personal growth and contributions to our society.
And while we are grappling with what being fifty-something means, our son will be in an exploratory phase, too.
We don’t know what he wants to be either.
I took my kid out for a drive around our suburban town the other day. He was antsy at home with little to occupy his time. We both needed a change of scenery.
We had no place to go, no particular destination, so I let him “steer.” At each stop sign or traffic light, I had him tell me which way to go – right, left, or straight – and he set our course.
With our son, the words he uses to answer a question are not always the words he intends. He often repeats the last word you’ve said, and then you have to guess whether that is his true response.
But on this drive, he was gesturing as well as verbalizing his direction of choice, out of order, with purpose.
We drove for almost an hour, meandering around our hilly neighborhoods, listening to music, and just going wherever he wanted to go.
We both enjoyed his chance to captain the ship.
I don’t know where my son wants to go in his life, or if he even understands there are options. He has yet to express even a mild interest in much beyond immediate desires.
We are fortunate that we got him into a day program for adults with differing abilities that advocates for inclusive work opportunities and that encourages all their participants to dream big. The stats for employment for adults like my son are pretty dismal, and this program believes everyone deserves access to meaningful, fulfilling work. If we understand the kind of work they’d like to do, we’ll know what skills they’ll need to get there, and what community outreach is needed to find the right placement.
During the pandemic, his day program replaced their usual in-person job-exploration opportunities with weekly virtual presentations about different types of work, including videos of enthusiastic employees.
And, while my son watches each “virtual job tour,” I watch him. To see if anything sparks his interest.
I glimpse the possibilities for him – organizing shelves (right up his alley); retail shops (oooh, employee discount!), bakeries (one for you, two for me?), libraries (one of mommy’s favorite jobs), gardens or zoos (working outside!); even a sign spinner (OK, maybe not in the desert heat; but this work is apparently an art form, complete with an annual competition in Vegas? A suitable option, perhaps, for a spinner of beads…)
But so far, I’m more excited than he is.
My son’s current attitude about work would likely echo the sentiments of the young man who inspired the creation of Rising Tide Car Wash, a company that employs autistic workers. Before speaking about his favorite parts of the job, Andrew D’Eri gave an honest response to a reporter’s bubbly question, “How do you feel about getting up in the morning and having a job to go to?” by saying: “Getting up in the morning? Well, that’s exhausting.”
In reality, my son is still lightyears away from being able to hold any of these jobs.
But I daydream for him anyway.
I want to get excited to see him land on something — not just some task he can do, but an enriching activity he loves to do.
Oh, trust me, it’s exciting to watch him learn how to do his own laundry. But we can dream bigger here.
Show me the direction you want to go, kid.
I’ll help you discover how to get there.
This is the cause for our next phase.
To carve out time to do things we love, not just the things we must.
To explore new directions and build new skills.
To help our son navigate the tricky landing into an avocation he can take pride in.
To discover creative and challenging outlets for ourselves, too.
To expand our world, and his.
To boldly go.
Dedicated with love to Emmy Buquo – who read all my posts and always had sweet words of encouragement and acceptance for my child (and not a few invitations to let him come swim in her pool). Thank you for your kindnesses and love, Emmy. We will miss you.