Autism, Growth, and Knowing Carley O'Donnell

Once upon a time…

A long time ago…

In the Before Time…

I was called to a meeting.

This was two or three years ago. And one may think on this, “Well now… that is not so long, Bits’n’Bobs Guy!” And to such words I then would reply that the semantics of the word, “long”, has within it no specific duration.

And the dramatics of such a phrase as long ago do emphasise a form of truism – I was not then who I am now. I was dressed not as nicely as I am now normally dressed, nor was I as nicely groomed. I was shyer and quieter and I possessed no esteem and I was guided by no firm motive nor was I aspirant of any purpose.

My meeting of Miss Carley O’Donnell was possible only by our mutual passion for youth mentorship

I was a dullard of boy and I had found my dull, boyish behind sat upon a chair at a table and across from me was sat a young lass named Carley O’Donnell, the Coordinator of the Gympie Regional Volunteer Centre. She was a lass of short height but with long and dark hair and an agile body that was bearing of many tattoos.

I was there to be a mentor – I was to be sent into a school to offer my insight to a member of the youth. I did not at-all then believe myself to be rightfully befitting for such a preoccupation of my time. But I did so earnestly desire to offer to others my time. But I was young and my mind was untidy and I had in myself no sense of surety.

And I was yet not shown to the door. My diagnosis was recognised by Miss O’Donnell and an affirmation was made that my potential did exceed any label and I gave to that not too much heed and I merely agreed to come once more for training and to begin thereafter as a mentor and do only what I could do in such a role.

Thus did an adventure start.

No judgement was imposed then upon me, and in my duties I was expected to abide solely by the responsibilities of common sense. As I am common and predominantly sensible, conformity thereto was done ably.

And the days and weeks and months went by from future to present and then into the past. And I was assigned to a student and we would meet on each week of each term and such persists even now to this day upon which my fingers type away these letters. But I am not any artisan of mentorship. I am not a confidant for his woes and I have offered and still offer to him not too much insight nor wisdom, for I am yet too young to be insightful and wise. But an hour each week is given to him and he can be himself and can be so away from the classroom and with someone whom he sees as a friend who he can be free around. His teachers say that this has been enough for him to grow a tad. It thusly is enough for me to feel that Miss O’Donnell’s affirmation was not misplaced.

There emerged from within me an adoration for this idea of one’s contribution to their town and the folks therein, and I did keep strong my ties with the Volunteer Centre for the reason hitherto a’written and for the reason of ingratiation into favour with delights for the tongue – for my heart had been won with food.

Carley O’Donnell is a lass of short height and long black hair and an agile body bearing of many tattoos – but of a greater heft were her abilities. One such was in the arrangement of seminars to educate her volunteers; and the most essential ability that therein blossomed, was her craft in the bringing together of the tastiest of platters.

When came from Miss O’Donnell an email to me, wherein it was stated that training of any sort was to be offered to her lot of volunteering dedicators, always I would reply promptly, “Yes – food!” and confirm my place. And then I would go and be taught and be fed and sometimes I would be nabbed by Miss O’Donnell and put into a photograph that was put thereafter into the newspaper that everyone else whom I knew then would show to me and say proudly to me, “You were in the newspaper!”

Miss O’Donnell has a habit of playfully challenging my unphotogenic nature.

Only those who truly have an imperishable passion would offer to others their time freely. And Miss O’Donnell was eager to place out and before the sheen of glory each and every member of her dedicated volunteering lot.

Such was her passion. The title of “Volunteer Coordinator” had to Miss O’Donnell as much meaning as the title “Support Officer” has for me – and that is not too much meaning at-all. Such titles only simplify roles that possess in themselves a far greater richdom of meaning. It is for Miss O’Donnell a meaningful quest to believe that folks are empowered to find their own sense of meaning in the time that they give to their fellows and the bonds that do form therefrom, and also from the awareness that there is a tiddling of hope and tad of worth that anyone can offer.

And one may say, “The idea of ‘giving back to the community’ is only an insincere nicety that people cite to seem grander than they are – hurrdy-hurr-hurr!”, and I would say to such a cynic that there is mud in a nearby gutter and thereto they should go to wallow until they identify their own non-wisdom.

The community of today is truly unalike that of many thousand years ago when our ancestors hunted and herded on the Eurasian Steppes and the bureaucracies of modern society did not triumphantly deter them from giving their help to those to whom it was needed. And our species seemingly is predisposed to the discovery of purpose in what can be given by us to others. There is a worth in giving that heals. Miss O’Donnell believes in this.

Spending time with my mentee, reading to very young schoolers, and visiting an elderly man so that he can share the stories of his life to one more listener before he passes – there was once in my life a time where giving was the sole deed in my life that had any worth as an abysm of despair enshrouded me. I am daunted by where and who I would be if I did not truly have these bonds and their offerings, if there would be a where or who at-all.

There was never any giving with no taking. Those folks to whom I have offered help thus have helped me. And some welcomed help was given also by Miss O’Donnell.

It was only not too long ago that I heard a tale of a bossy old lady named Nelle Frances who came to Miss O’Donnell with the hope of finding somebody to help her company. And so the stars aligned – or so goes that odd little idiom that defers too much to a deterministic cosmos. It is more apt, perhaps, that I offer to ye reader the reality, that to volunteer purposelessly did offer a reward by the end.

I try as well as I can to be modest, but in this I shall be obtusely immodest – I chose that the staying of my tush upon its seat in the comfort of my home was not meaningful. There is quest to my life and it did not begin with my volunteering, nor does it end with my role as the Bits’n’Bobs Guy of Nelle Frances. But I started and I did not truly get myself too far by myself. But my dedication to the effort of what I could muster from myself to give was thus seen and thusly was an ample amount given back by Miss O’Donnell.

And all was well!

But then someone saw a bat and thought, “Yumm!”, and destroyed the world.

And the days and weeks and months went by from future to present and then into the past. The year begun with me never knowing that I could ever live aside a global catastrophe. And it then came to be that months had gone swiftly by with my own self stuck in the cramping of my home.

And my duo of confidants to whom I often complain had come to be worn by my melancholia on the state of the world and so the thought came into my mind, “Who else can I bother with my woes?” I thus would Carley O’Donnell then be the recipient of several messages on my troubles.

And so was I then asked to come along for a walk with Miss O’Donnell. This was when the restrictions were starting to placate and two folks from two households could safely walk together and not be arrested suddenly for bioterrorism. All was beginning to seem better (at least in Oceania.)

And it was in our walk that Miss O’Donnell asked me if I knew much on the topic of Olympic Weightlifting. And I did indeed know a little of this and a dinky of that. In the Before Time, ere the toilet paper crisis and the quarantine, I did go to a gymnasium (though not a proper gymnasium per semantics, for the word derives from the Ancient Greek adjective, gumnós, which meant, “naked”, yet nobody therein was doing a bare-bottomed deadlift), and I sometimes did see the performance of Olympic Weightlifting.

It is unalike the pushing, pressing, rowing, and curling of dumbbells and barbells. It was an artform that necessitates a technique of biomechanical prowess and physical astuteness. It is a feat wherein one may see a dance of gravity with form and thusly the achievement of a very splendid spectacle.

In addition to helping others with their loads, Miss O’Donnell likes to bear her own weight as well.

Miss O’Donnell invited me to her club. And very soon thereafter did it come to be one of my most beloved places to be. It has been so for Miss O’Donnell since she began her own fare into weightlifting five years ago, and her love for it has kept in the years since that start. It is more than a love for the sports that has brought her heart into marriage therewith. It is but by a love for herself and the need for care that thus has done this bringing, for the quandary of how her body has been seen, and the eating disorders that have arisen therefrom, are a’laid plentifully in her past. And it is in our club that the most right mind towards the body that we have, can be alit.

For her, for myself, and for others, it is a place to be free in the truth of what we can do – and not by who we seem and how we are seen.

And so the days and weeks and months went by from future to present and then into the past and the mentor of mine who was Carley O’Donnell was coming to be an informal peer. We oft would train together and talk often and we would dine with our clubfellows and she would hug me at our leaving of those gatherings, and more and more I thought to myself, “Carley O’Donnell is a very nice person. I wish we were friends.”

Such is the rigidity of my mind and its algorithm.

-Amicable and informal demeanour

+ No verbal confirmation of friendship

= Carley O’Donnell is my friendly Volunteer Coordinator.

I often have struggled with this dilemma in our society, for friendliness is offered eagerly but friendship is dissimilar to such offerings. It is often said that it is better to have a littler group of friends than one that is large – yet, for me, I find that my predilection is to a middling therebetween. I would relish a friendship with each and every member of our folkdom whom I met insofar as they have never jaywalked. But it is only a proven few who will be taken as a confidant.

Miss O’Donnell was a rarity. There was a time in my life long ago that persists as a cause for tragedy, and there was a time less long ago where I sought relief from this in the deed of putting a razor to the skin of my forearm. In this, the mentoring of myself was failed and what mentorship of others thus could be done? Carley O’Donnell was my liaison in my mentorship and it was to her that I took myself and I had therewith a thought that she was the most right person whom I should go.

Her counsel was given, her loyalty was shown, and Miss O’Donnell called me her friend. And that algorithm in my mind did then so quickly change. I spoke about her often as, “Carley O’Donnell, my Volunteer Coordinator”, and thus did she become, “My friend, Carley”.

Though that algorithm always was as it now is, I do reckon. But I always doubt that what I would like can ever be a component of reality until such is said assuredly to be so by another, and my doubts are so thusly defeated.

She is, in our community, a coordinator of peoples and resources from an origin of potential and mustered thereon for the betterment of those who must rely on those ancient bonds of community. And that betterment is attained not solely by those who are the recipients of any volunteered effort; the volunteers are equal beneficiaries. Everyone is broken or will be broken. Everyone needs help, and Carley’s belief in this does arise in her work, yet it has arisen nowhere more avidly to me than in her friendship with me and faith in my ability.

Carley is a dear, short-heighted, long-haired, agile-bodied, and tattoo-bearing lass who started solely as my liaison. She offered to me many occasions that have placed me upon a truly empowering pathway in life and which have helped my mind and healed me from tragedy. She then did the talking that put me onto this beloved seat that I now have in the office of Nelle Frances. And now she does so eagerly offer her insight and help to me when I so often ask for such insightful help and helpful insight from her.

When across sat I from her years ago, never would have I foreseen this.

I write this to give some foresight on a likelihood.

And this is the likelihood that fewer folks than one may think are truly as hindered by their “fates” as others, and even themselves, may deem. I exist as a contrarian of what expectations that one may possess for those of my diagnosis, and for my own doubts of myself.

I was asked lately by Carley if I thought of myself as an inspiration. It is odd to me that my life in the few years hitherto can be considered as inspiring when it seems to me that all which I have done, is so ostensibly rudimentary. But, as written, I did not need to grow from being a dullard of a boy. I could have stayed shy and I could have kept myself away from this harsh world and from this path of coming to know and to grow myself.

And I, above all else, wish for others on the Spectrum to fearlessly gaze at their own selves and doubts and to more bravely believe that there is a likelihood for more. Carley sees that in people and wishes to help them find that eagerness to grow, and to find bonding and belonging with others and the meaning of their duties thereto.

If an Autistic individual possesses in themselves the motivation to find their place in the world, it is Carley whereto they should go. If a parent possesses for their child the hope for them to see themselves as a proven, worthy, and cherished member of our town’s folkdom, then it is Carley whereto they should be sent.

You do not need to start by believing in yourself. You only need to move.

Miss Carley O’Donnell will do the believing on your behalf.

Until you begin to do so yourself.

- Written by Bits’n’Bobs Guy,

©Nelle Frances 2020