The Need for Nature…
If you know me in real life, or even if you just know me online, you know that I love nature. I, quite literally, cannot survive in the world without some connection to nature. When I stay inside for too long, I become anxious, angry, depressed, and then overwhelmed to the point where I become a monosyllabic/monotonous and disinterested person who sleeps most of the day. In short, if I do not have the natural world, I shut down. It is difficult for me to spend more than a couple of hours at a time inside a building, and if I am somewhere without a window – forget it. I am starting to feel trapped and hemmed in just thinking about it.
I still don’t know yet if I am classifiable as autistic (neuropsychological testing for a diagnosis will be Sept 2013, will keep you posted), but one thing I do know is that a lot of “Aspie” people have a similar need for freedom. And, for me, this is how I recuperate from the frustrations of social interaction and escape from a world that never ceases to take me from myself.
Maybe I am selfish. I don’t know. Today, I don’t really care. I am compelled at this moment to tell you what I am thinking because I am overcome with a feeling of warmth and love and motivation for my future as a self-sustained farmer because that is what all of my instincts and intuition tell me is Right. There is no question. I feel a complete lack of doubt when I consider becoming a farmer. This is where my path leads.
Anyway, I know that I’ve been told I am selfish because I want to spend even a little time completely alone – away from everyone, including my children. I’ll be honest, it seems like a manipulation and control tactic to me – to tell other people they are not allowed to have “me-time” because they should want to be with other people. Up until a few years ago, I felt guilty about wanting to be by myself. I spent my life in fear, always doing what other people told me was “right” because that was what I was “supposed to do”. (If you haven’t read how I ended up like that, take a trip down memory lane in five parts: Recovering from Dysfunction.) Indeed, whenever I bring up the idea of going somewhere by myself, people cannot resist pointing out how abnormal it is that I don’t need or want people to talk to. I used to be affected by this to the point that I would hide my natural tendencies because I was embarrassed to be asocial (not to be confused with anti-social or asshole-cial). Then, I changed. I realized that other people have never had my best interest in mind when they tell me things like that.
According to The Legend of Jane Tanfei (as told by relatives who knew me as a wee bairn), I refused to speak at all for some ungodly length of time which caused them to be concerned for my well-being. I cried a strange bird-like cooing cry unless someone was holding me and would get highly agitated at people who tried to force me to talk. Then, one day, out of the blue, I walked up to my father and asked, “Can I go outside, please?” Those were my first words. Not much has changed.
For the 1,000th time, I shall tell you that I don’t speak unless I have something to say. When I do have something to say, it’s only because I’ve thought about and dissected and planned out all facets of what I’m going to say. (Unfortunately, many people persist in trying to argue with me on hot-button topics, which ends up with me rattling on for quite some time using the endless statistics and scientific proofs and inarguable logic and personal experience I have to back up my point and make their point invalid. Don’t Mess With Me, Man.) This is not to say I say everything perfectly the first time I say it, because sometimes I skip words or juxtapose or forget part of what I’d planned to say or things just come out wrong… but when I am talking, it’s because I know what I am talking about, even if I stutter or pause or poke fun at myself due to poor recitation skills during long monologues. This is my nature.
Point being: even as a baby, I wanted only to be outside. Almost all of my early (and I do mean EARLY, because my first memory is from when I was approximately 18 months old) memories revolve around being outside in some capacity. I was born in a desolate desert town to a family of farmers who’d been homesteading in that area for nigh on 40 years by the time I came along. My grandparents lived nearby, and many of my early memories are of visiting them at their house and going with my grandmother to pick fruit from or sit by her trees. Other memories I have are of feeding farm animals, chasing loose piglets and chicks, tending to our own land, playing with the dogs and feral cats, or being entranced by the big blue dragonflies who’d come to me while I was standing motionless out in the yard. I loved being outside. This has never changed.
The need for nature is my nature. I have always needed nature, even when I didn’t know how to tell anyone about these feelings. I don’t think most people can understand just how deep this need goes, but I can only compare it to needing to breathe. You know that feeling of panic and urgency and fear you feel when you hold your breath too long? Yeah, well, that’s how I feel when I’ve been inside too long. I cannot survive inside.
This was torture to me as a student, because I got bored following schedules all the time. I wanted to be outside. School wasn’t too bad up until 6th grade, because there were nicely spaced recesses throughout the day and my classrooms always had a view of the school fields that I could look at when I’d finished my work or between pages of my book. But 6th grade was awful. The only window looked out over another building and a vast space covered in blacktop. It didn’t help that I had a jerkwad teacher, but that year was the worst year in my school career.
In sixth grade, I realized just how dorky and uncool I was and I realized how lame it was to actually spend time next to trees or just walking around by myself. That was the year that other people in my class actually realized that even though I was chronologically a year younger than them, I was significantly more advanced academically – more than just the “smart” they had previously supposed.
That was the year that other people started to notice that I was weird, when the people who were my “friends” started to call me out about being weird. This is when I first began to feel like I was slowly suffocating every minute of every day and when my adventures in false self-portrayal began. I had to pretend to be “normal”, so I started lying so I could seem normal and I started mimicking other people so that I could fit in enough not to be picked on. When I got home, I’d go outside and relax or bury myself in a book and be myself. But, every morning I’d put on my identity like a cloak and head off to school or church like a good little girl.
I was able to pretend my way through life from ages 10 to 26. I hold a lot of guilt and sorrow from nearly everything that transpired in those sixteen years. The years from junior high through high school were filled with me trying to be someone else (save the one year of home studies). At age 17, I broke for the first time and tried to “fix” myself at age 18 by getting married and living a secluded life. At age 21 I nearly broke again and realized I had to change my life significantly in order to survive. At age 25 I broke again completely, and that is when I knew that I could not longer continue just to survive. That is when I finally realized that I had to live, not just exist…
And so, to live, I must live free. I cannot exist encumbered or fettered by the words of others. I cannot live by pretending. I cannot live by hiding myself. I cannot live by being “normal”. I need to live outside. I need nature to live. I will gladly wear overalls and be sunburnt and have dirt under my nails every day for the rest of my life because at the end of the day… I will be free.
And so, here I am. Here, I’ll stand. Here is where I will be.
Jane IRL
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