Last Updated On April 10, 2018

 

I'm so. Happy. You're Alive. -Bazzi

 

 

“When does a bug become part of the system?”

I listened to a podcast where a scientist (and a mother of a child with MS) posed this question to another scientist.

Every system has variation.
Every living system thrives on variation.

So a mutation,
an adverse condition,
a divergent from the norm
contributes to the vitality of the system.

If everyone had the same optimally functioning within normal limits brain- would we be motivated to know as much about the human brain as we do? Would our experiences and our humanity be crippled without the exposures, the insights, the perspectives of difference?

When we say nothing is as important as our health, even when referring to our unborn- what are we actually saying? That its hard to love ourselves and others in adversity? Can we truly accept and hear the “hard” without trying to eradicate the person?

What if we honored the bugs as necessary and heroic indicators of weakness in the system- harbingers of change and development? Perhaps we could hold the bugs in gratitude instead of trying to squash them.

Let them show us the way, lift everyone’s experience, bring us to the next level.
Not treat them as an affront to our system.
Because its not our system to begin with.

We need a bug in every classroom, every business, every home to raise the systemic standards.

They are the REAL, the STRENGTH, the POWER, the GIFT.

My son stationed himself next to me as I’m writing. He asks, “What are you writing about?”

I normally respond hesitantly to this question because although the material has travelled from the ether to thought to page, it has yet to enter the realm of the verbal. But I find on this evening, my mouthparts feel lax. I’ve been tenderized by a particularly rough day. I feel wobbly, loose in the joints, without defense.

“I’m writing about when a bug becomes part of the system..” and he visibly winces as I try to use a computer metaphor involving bugs and codes and how we arrive at version 2.0.

I read what I’ve written above and I use the example of autism. I tell him how autistic people are opening doors and conversations through their unique experiences and perspectives making life better for everyone.

I tell him how every time a visual schedule or an extra staff person is added to an integrated classroom- education improves for all.

And how when strategies and products are developed to help autistic people cope and ground themselves, everyone is comforted. I say this as I adjust my sensory pillow and pull my weighted blanket up to my chin.

And how as autistic people wrestle with the complexities of interpersonal communication, all the socially awkward people of the world breathe a sigh of relief.

Not to mention all the trades and arts and sciences that benefit from an autistic mind.

The idea of “the canary in the coal mine” is too fatalistic a comparison, but yes, people who are autistic (or atypical in a myriad of other ways) alert us to issues that may be too “low level” or difficult for the rest of us to attribute. But people with autism, like my son, bring the toxicity to the fore and by virtue of their difference (and their perseverance) they interrupt our regularly broadcast channel, providing a window, an opportunity, for introspection and upgrade.

My boy deems my reasoning “adequate” and wants to revisit the history of his autism diagnosis. Usually these conversations have me feeling dodgy and disemboweled. Dodgy because I’m still wary of land mines yet uncovered in this twisty history. Disemboweled because I feel un-contained and exposed. I think most of us have had this sensation while having hard conversations with our children- waddling forth, tripping over our own intestines.

But this was neither. He nods at the familiarity of struggles shared with former self. There is a new fluidity and maturity in his acceptance and compassion. A strength and a forthrightness in his manner.

Maybe this is how a bug becomes part of the system.

 

Last Updated On April 10, 2018

 

I'm so. Happy. You're Alive. -Bazzi

 

“When does a bug become part of the system?”

I listened to a podcast where a scientist (and a mother of a child with MS) posed this question to another scientist.

Every system has variation.
Every living system thrives on variation.

So a mutation,
an adverse condition,
a divergent from the norm
contributes to the vitality of the system.

If everyone had the same optimally functioning within normal limits brain- would we be motivated to know as much about the human brain as we do? Would our experiences and our humanity be crippled without the exposures, the insights, the perspectives of difference?

When we say nothing is as important as our health, even when referring to our unborn- what are we actually saying? That its hard to love ourselves and others in adversity? Can we truly accept and hear the “hard” without trying to eradicate the person?

What if we honored the bugs as necessary and heroic indicators of weakness in the system- harbingers of change and development? Perhaps we could hold the bugs in gratitude instead of trying to squash them.

Let them show us the way, lift everyone’s experience, bring us to the next level.
Not treat them as an affront to our system.
Because its not our system to begin with.

We need a bug in every classroom, every business, every home to raise the systemic standards.

They are the REAL, the STRENGTH, the POWER, the GIFT.

My son stationed himself next to me as I’m writing. He asks, “What are you writing about?”

I normally respond hesitantly to this question because although the material has travelled from the ether to thought to page, it has yet to enter the realm of the verbal. But I find on this evening, my mouthparts feel lax. I’ve been tenderized by a particularly rough day. I feel wobbly, loose in the joints, without defense.

“I’m writing about when a bug becomes part of the system..” and he visibly winces as I try to use a computer metaphor involving bugs and codes and how we arrive at version 2.0.

I read what I’ve written above and I use the example of autism. I tell him how autistic people are opening doors and conversations through their unique experiences and perspectives making life better for everyone.

I tell him how every time a visual schedule or an extra staff person is added to an integrated classroom- education improves for all.

And how when strategies and products are developed to help autistic people cope and ground themselves, everyone is comforted. I say this as I adjust my sensory pillow and pull my weighted blanket up to my chin.

And how as autistic people wrestle with the complexities of interpersonal communication, all the socially awkward people of the world breathe a sigh of relief.

Not to mention all the trades and arts and sciences that benefit from an autistic mind.

The idea of “the canary in the coal mine” is too fatalistic a comparison, but yes, people who are autistic (or atypical in a myriad of other ways) alert us to issues that may be too “low level” or difficult for the rest of us to attribute. But people with autism, like my son, bring the toxicity to the fore and by virtue of their difference (and their perseverance) they interrupt our regularly broadcast channel, providing a window, an opportunity, for introspection and upgrade.

My boy deems my reasoning “adequate” and wants to revisit the history of his autism diagnosis. Usually these conversations have me feeling dodgy and disemboweled. Dodgy because I’m still wary of land mines yet uncovered in this twisty history. Disemboweled because I feel un-contained and exposed. I think most of us have had this sensation while having hard conversations with our children- waddling forth, tripping over our own intestines.

But this was neither. He nods at the familiarity of struggles shared with former self. There is a new fluidity and maturity in his acceptance and compassion. A strength and a forthrightness in his manner.

Maybe this is how a bug becomes part of the system.

Last Updated On April 10, 2018

I'm so. Happy. You're Alive. -Bazzi

“When does a bug become part of the system?”

I listened to a podcast where a scientist (and a mother of a child with MS) posed this question to another scientist.

Every system has variation.
Every living system thrives on variation.

So a mutation,
an adverse condition,
a divergent from the norm
contributes to the vitality of the system.

If everyone had the same optimally functioning within normal limits brain- would we be motivated to know as much about the human brain as we do? Would our experiences and our humanity be crippled without the exposures, the insights, the perspectives of difference?

When we say nothing is as important as our health, even when referring to our unborn- what are we actually saying? That its hard to love ourselves and others in adversity? Can we truly accept and hear the “hard” without trying to eradicate the person?

What if we honored the bugs as necessary and heroic indicators of weakness in the system- harbingers of change and development? Perhaps we could hold the bugs in gratitude instead of trying to squash them.

Let them show us the way, lift everyone’s experience, bring us to the next level.
Not treat them as an affront to our system.
Because its not our system to begin with.

We need a bug in every classroom, every business, every home to raise the systemic standards.

They are the REAL, the STRENGTH, the POWER, the GIFT.

My son stationed himself next to me as I’m writing. He asks, “What are you writing about?”

I normally respond hesitantly to this question because although the material has travelled from the ether to thought to page, it has yet to enter the realm of the verbal. But I find on this evening, my mouthparts feel lax. I’ve been tenderized by a particularly rough day. I feel wobbly, loose in the joints, without defense.

“I’m writing about when a bug becomes part of the system..” and he visibly winces as I try to use a computer metaphor involving bugs and codes and how we arrive at version 2.0.

I read what I’ve written above and I use the example of autism. I tell him how autistic people are opening doors and conversations through their unique experiences and perspectives making life better for everyone.

I tell him how every time a visual schedule or an extra staff person is added to an integrated classroom- education improves for all.

And how when strategies and products are developed to help autistic people cope and ground themselves, everyone is comforted. I say this as I adjust my sensory pillow and pull my weighted blanket up to my chin.

And how as autistic people wrestle with the complexities of interpersonal communication, all the socially awkward people of the world breathe a sigh of relief.

Not to mention all the trades and arts and sciences that benefit from an autistic mind.

The idea of “the canary in the coal mine” is too fatalistic a comparison, but yes, people who are autistic (or atypical in a myriad of other ways) alert us to issues that may be too “low level” or difficult for the rest of us to attribute. But people with autism, like my son, bring the toxicity to the fore and by virtue of their difference (and their perseverance) they interrupt our regularly broadcast channel, providing a window, an opportunity, for introspection and upgrade.

My boy deems my reasoning “adequate” and wants to revisit the history of his autism diagnosis. Usually these conversations have me feeling dodgy and disemboweled. Dodgy because I’m still wary of land mines yet uncovered in this twisty history. Disemboweled because I feel un-contained and exposed. I think most of us have had this sensation while having hard conversations with our children- waddling forth, tripping over our own intestines.

But this was neither. He nods at the familiarity of struggles shared with former self. There is a new fluidity and maturity in his acceptance and compassion. A strength and a forthrightness in his manner.

Maybe this is how a bug becomes part of the system.