In a few hours, I will be 63 . . .

In a few hours it will be my birthday. I will be 63.

Thank you for all your good wishes and your friendship and community over the years. I never knew I had so many friends, or so much goodwill, until I wrote Look Me in the Eye. It’s hard to believe, but it all started 15 years ago, with an essay I wrote after my father died. Who’d have guessed we would have met as a result of that sadness? For some, fifteen years is like yesterday; for others, it’s forever.

Some of you knew me long before the book and I don’t mean to slight you with that statement. What I mean is, without the book, I’d not be on here. I would not be connected to 50,000+ people all over the world. I would just be another middle-aged guy with a typical circle of friends.

I was successful before I wrote that book. But all my successes were from my individual actions. Writing changed all that, seemingly overnight. Suddenly, I was part of a community. I was working for change, within a group. Even more, I was welcomed into the group.

Might that have happened before Look Me in the Eye? Maybe. I was the same person then. All I can say is, it didn’t happen. That book was one of those life changing things. Sometimes I regret it, but most of the time, I don’t. Today, there is no doubt in my mind that writing is the best thing I’ve contributed to the world, though I would never have predicted that would be the case. My money would have been on engineering or cars, and I would not have looked for much benefit to the world at all. Just a way to make a living.

For many years after writing that book (and the ones that followed, and the articles and blogs and posts) I was wrapped up in a new community, one I found online and in the real world, centered round autism and now, neurodiversity. It’s hard to imagine but this whole online thing has grown up in this same time. When I took up the pen (actually, the keyboard) there was no Linkedin, no Facebook, no Twitter, no Instagram.

All that came into being, like the book, and brought all of us together.

In the blink of an eye, the COVID19 pandemic stripped it away. As the real world around me shut down, the news filled with tales of invisible viral invaders and certain death while paralyzed and connected to a respirator. I was horrified and stunned into silence. I ceased to engage. Gradually I emerged.

It’s hard for me to be online as I once was now. I’m not one who works from home. I cannot imagine being away from the workplace I’ve built any more than I have been. But even now I am isolated in a building in the corner of our complex, away from the public. Supposedly, away from risk, but who really knows?

You’d think I would have a perfect environment to write in, but the pandemic messed me all up. It’s more than I can do most days. I hardly post anything now. I'm trying.

I have recovered much of my equilibrium, but I still feel disconnected from all that I’ve been part of these past few years. I feel I’ve lost touch with neurodiversity and online advocacy. For the first time, I have no speaking engagements next month, and no trips next week. Yet a part of me knows the disconnect is in my mind. I feel like it’s all over, but my agent has bookings for next year. My academic and government appointments continue to be renewed. I may feel apart, but they expect to bring me back. Sometimes it’s good to get a reminder of that. Today I talked with a colleague from Livermore, which seems so long ago and so far away. But not to him. Tomorrow is another day, and they are looking to plan next year, which still includes me. Last week I talked to my friends at William & Mary, and tomorrow I’m talking to folks at Landmark. I can’t always feel them, but they are still there.

I would never have predicted how much life could change in just a moment. Not just for me, but for all of us.

I feel disconnected, but if you are reading this, you may feel disconnected too. The fact is, every one who reads this is connected in some tenuous way, if only for a moment. We just don’t know it, and we all feel lost. Better days will come. The longer we survive the virus, the better our odds of coming out the other side.

Truly, I am lucky. I own my workplace, and we are blessed with clients who believe in us and keep us going. I have a wife, son, family, and friends who love me and many people wish me well; more than I ever knew. I feel separated from the online community, but people write me, and remind me I am a part. For that, I am grateful, and I look forward to the day we can put this behind us and engage again, without fear.

How I wish I had something profound and inspiring to offer you. I hope you are getting by, as best you can, as I am.

I will leave you with an image of the circus, from the Big E fair, which is cancelled for the first time since the Second World War, thanks to this damn pandemic. May we look ahead to a better 2021!

Best wishes to all of you on this birthday, Aug 13, 2020

John Elder Robison