My book chapter!!
Chapter 8 "An Agnostic Deconstruction of Mysticism and the Philosophical Value of Its Truth Claims"
in:
Quietism, Agnosticism and Mysticism: Mapping the Philosophical Discourse of the East and the West
Edited by Krishna Mani Pathak
Published 2021 by Springer Nature, Singapore
https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-981-16-3223-5_8
I never liked being told what to do because the 'why' of it all never made any sense to me, but I have always found comfort in structure. I think that is why I enjoy education so much. The curriculum is structured (in most cases), and then I can run with it on essays, papers, projects, and dissertations. It speaks to all parts of me: the rebellious side that thinks the 'system' is an absolute crock, the autistic side that wants ALL the knowledge, and that ridiculous side of me that is a bit of an achievement junkie-I just want to do/know it because I can. My special interest is knowledge, itself.
My mother can attest to the fact that as a kid I did what I had to do because I had to do it (there were times that this concept did not even apply), but I never liked doing it. I was not a terribly unhappy child, but, even as young as 4 or 5 was maybe just very confused about why the world was the way it was and why people made the choices they made. I lived in a state of confusion mixed with disbelief, because I did not understand the world and I did not feel like I really belonged in it, yet people kept telling me I was so good at the things I was doing in their reality. It was a very conflicting existence: highly academically inclined, but extremely socially challenged. This was the 1980's.
Fast-forward to the early 2000's and after several years of being away from college, I decided to go back because I had finally 'figured out' what I wanted to do with my life - or so I thought. I had not yet realized that the burnout I experienced after several weeks in a semester and the shutdowns I had during classes when I couldn't ask a clarifying question in the moment were ASD related (and quite frankly, I am only remembering some of the instances just now), but they just kept happening. On a few occasions I had to take an academic leave-of-absence and withdraw for the semester. I was working harder, not smarter.
I held a full-time job and went to school at night, which I am sure also contributed to the burnout-and-meltdown-inducing stress. The tight schedule meant that I could really only attend college 1/2 to 3/4 time each semester, and so it took me a lot longer to get through my program than it would have ordinarily. A 4-year undergraduate degree lasted 7 years. However, once I moved into the upper-level classes, I started to figure out that when I had a genuine interest in something, I did not have to trudge slowly through the subject matter or wade drearily through the semester. There was a genuine desire to obtain the knowledge on the topic and studying was easy, if not fun.
The epiphany just described helped me to translate each class into its own mini-version of a special interest, though I had not labelled it as such at the time. I discovered that I had an interest in physics, despite having been terrible at science in secondary school (though I could blame that on the science teachers I had), and I discovered that I had a deeply rooted interest in philosophy and religious studies, despite having never encountered them previously in formal education or in private life. The latter subjects would become a lasting academic special interest, which took me into a successful Ph.D. program.
Beating the system, for me, meant that I had to find something that I was genuinely passionate about in order to succeed. College was not a means to financial end, as it can be for so many people. I was not in classes simply because it meant I would have a well-paying job at the end. It was a means to personal happiness, completely removed from any financial interests. College was about gathering knowledge so that I could use it to make the world better, safer, and happier, especially for people who think and see the world differently than their neurotypical counterparts.
The plan I had at the beginning of my college career looked far different than the multitude of plans I have now. As I have gone through this process and learned so much about myself and the world, I have had to adapt a bit, but I and my plans have truly evolved. My original plan was made through tunnel vision, and as the evolution has taken place, the lens through which I see this world and all the possibilities in it has widened dramatically. If you, the reader, are neurodivergent, I encourage you to beat the system by leaning into your special interests. Break the game, so to speak.
