I started a new category on my blog a few months ago called “Field Notes from an Unusual Vantage” because I’m starting to fully grasp just how differently I’m existing in the world versus how the majority of people do. My intention was to write about some common everyday experiences that I have a different internal view on. Maybe things about parenting, learning, things I’m good at, or things I’m struggling with. But each time I finish a draft I’m struck by… how unimportant it is? Not that my experiences are unimportant, but just, there is such a startling variety of other inner experiences and challenges that other people face, it all begins to feel a little humdrum. And there is an inherent difficulty in describing an inner experience to those who don’t share it. I don’t know if my words can capture what I want to say.
So, the topic of my perception, in general, has been on my mind as I puzzled out if I wanted to keep pursuing writing about it on my blog. Which is why, when I was teaching a couple of weeks ago, staring once again into a sea of faces where I couldn’t tell who was who… I admitted defeat and told the tai chi class I’m face blind. A sea of faces is an exaggeration, there were 7 people. Regardless, I don’t like either of the two terms commonly used for it, prosopagnosia or face blindness. The first sounds too clinical and the second leads to confusion. Yes, I see faces, I just can’t quickly (or reliably) match a person to a face.
Try as I might I can’t tell if someone in the class is new or it’s just been a week or two since they’ve attended. It usually takes me a couple of months of frequent interaction and context to pin someone to their face. This once-a-week schedule isn’t enough. And compounding it is that I don’t handle the registration and class attendance, the gym owner does. So I don’t know how many people are going to be there to learn when I come, nor what their names are. It’s the first time I felt it necessary to share this shortcoming in person and I’m happy to report that everyone seemed nice about it.
Having to do so did highlight how uncomfortable talking about it still makes me. Writing about it on my blog feels different than saying it in person. My close family members know. But for some reason, with the people I’m most likely to unintentionally offend… those I’m just getting to know or will see infrequently, my mouth slams shut and I want nothing more than to pretend it isn’t a problem.
I’m taking steps. I mentioned it in passing to someone I’ve gotten to know while we looked at these crazy realistic face masks. I’m not sure it registered. A few days later I brought it up with another friend as our conversation moved to talking about neurodivergences. He seemed interested, asked follow-up questions and wondered if he might have some version of it himself.
Maybe this is why I struggle to say it. There is a shame I’m well acquainted with, of knowing you should be able to recognize someone and just… can’t. That the very fundamental human experience of seeing someone and knowing them… is out of reach except for the faces of a treasured few. I try not to think about it too much.
So, in a way, starting the blog category has already had an effect even if I haven’t written much. It made me feel like I could just say it… as something about myself, to others. I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable with it, but it’s nice to know I can.
Loura