Wake me up when Summer’s over
I sit down to write this having endured four days of what the newspapers helpfully screamed was a “mini-heatwave.” For four days, despite the fact that we are currently edging towards the middle of September, it was Summer again. Suddenly, I was eating salads and wearing white, wondering whether I really did have to wear sun-cream and whether I should shut my curtains to keep the midday heat out. Last night there was an enormous thunderstorm. I watched in awe as the rain came down thickly like the flow of a waterfall, punctuated by sheet lightening that made it seem as though I was at a very inclement disco.
How do I feel after this little extra piece of Summer? Frankly, I feel glad that it is finally over. My hair and my nerves are frazzled; I have an uneven tan and sensory overload from the brightness of the sunlight and the noise of other people enjoying themselves. I breathed a secret sigh of relief waking up in the distinctly autumnal cloud, and thought with longing of black opaque tights, making jam and staying indoors.
There is something macabre and maudlin about disliking Summer. Plenty of poems, writing and song lyrics involve shutting out the sunlight, staying inside, wallowing in the darkness, and they are almost always about depression, pining, loss and misery. Now, I don’t think of myself as a massively pessimistic person – I mean, I have my moments, but no more than anybody else. I do not take an artistic stance against light and sunshine as a rule, either: not for me the constant black of goths, or the groaning of the tortured artist when they see other people having fun. But none of that stops me feeling really, really relieved when Summer is over.
When we think of the summer months, they are an almost universal symbol of happiness – sun, travel, light, flowers, other people. But you only have to glance at that list to see that there are one or two things on there that autistic people find difficult. I don’t dislike the sun, as a rule: my Portugese blood ensures that I tan pretty nicely, and I like the sea, too. Is there an autistic person alive that doesn’t respond positively to being around water? I have yet to find one. I love swimming in the sea, there is a sense of abandonment to nature, a vastness and a concentration purely on the physical that affects me in a wonderful way. On a more shallow note, I like ice cream too, and I often relish the chance to have a holiday.
So, what is my problem with Summer? And it honestly is a problem, not in a kind of “close the curtains and shut it all out” kind of way, more a feeling of uneasiness until the cooler weather arrives again. I just don’t feel that the personality of Summer really fits with how I live: if Summer was a person, I imagine her as a blonde, cheerleader type constantly rushing between social engagements, laid back and smiley, never really alone but never actively seeking company either. Someone the exact opposite of me, basically. I am simply not sociable enough to be a summery person. Even the adjective “summery”, used to mean light, pretty, floral, is a complete anathema to me.
There are plenty of neurotypical people who don’t love Summer for various reasons, and there are also a lot of people without Autism who love nature. But I feel that Autism has given me a particular need to be in natural environments that is less due to love and something more like dependency. Shouldn’t I be a fan of Summer, then, when everything is in bloom? Possibly, but I can really appreciate every season. I love hearing the sound of the rain, watching the snow, listening to the rustle of the wind in the trees during spring. Summer is blousy in an obvious sort of way, but my autistic eye for detail sees past the pretty flowers and all the green.
There is, of course, another reason why I appreciate weather that is usually called “bad”: rain, hail, sleet and snow prevent socialising. Winter lets me stay at home, where I feel safest and calmest; it forces me to focus on various domestic projects and hobbies that I was already hyper-focused on anyway.
I might take the odd holiday during Autumn, Winter and Spring, but the main event, the “Summer holiday” is different: it is built up to in a way that makes me anxious. People ask me whether I am looking forward to going away and I don’t know how to answer, because I can’t even see past packing yet, and I find packing very difficult. I find breaking my routine very difficult, too. Most people look forward to relaxing and “doing nothing” on holiday – to someone who is autistic, the idea of “doing nothing” makes them feel as though they are falling off a cliff and hurtling downwards towards…. well, nothing.
Two things ameliorate Summer for me nowadays: being older and living in the middle of nowhere. With increasing age comes a mellowness, and less expectation of having a bonkers social life that consumes your every waking minute. It doesn’t matter if other people are dashing about to event after event: you can watch and give a gentle, if slightly condescending smile. And living in the depths of the country means that, even if you wanted to dash about from event to event, you can’t. You can’t hear other people either – their summery whoops and cries no longer taunt you and make you wonder why you aren’t like everybody else.
So, spare us autistic people a thought the next time the weather gets warmer, and forgive us if we don’t charge headlong into the sunlight and have a party – we prefer it cooler and quieter. That may seem less “fun”, but trust me, we have fun in our own way.
