A reader of The League of Ordinary Gentleman website writes in to explain why despite his unusually high IQ, he has become a trucker: his Asperger’s. Excerpt:
Because the real problem all along wasn’t that I was failing where I should have succeeded. The problem was that I was trying to succeed where I was doomed to fail. I just didn’t understand that because I didn’t understand myself. And it’s not really that I was doomed to fail as an engineer; it’s just that I was doomed to fail given that I didn’t understand my true strengths and weaknesses. I didn’t know when and how to ask for help because I didn’t know why I needed help. Everyone, including myself, naturally assumed that because I could do the hard stuff like math and physics that I could do the “easy” stuff like figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do today. Everybody else seemed to have it figured out, busy working on this or that, whatever it was, while I basically… pretended. Pretended to be doing something, and hoped no one would notice. To this day I don’t really know what half of them were actually doing. Maybe they were pretending like me and were just a lot better at it.
On the loneliness of an Aspie:
But at the same time we’re rejecting normal social relationships we also crave them. It’s like you’re locked outside, with your nose pressed against the window, watching the normal happy people inside the party, like a dog who’s been banished for peeing on the carpet. When I’m home for a weekend there’s no friends for me to call and go have a beer. There’s no circle that gets together for cookouts in the summer. No holiday parties to attend. Frankly, it’s damn lonely and it puts just that much more strain on the one real relationship that I maintain, my marriage.



Good post. My Aspie son is brilliant (but not in the math/science way; instead, he writes top-rate fiction). He barely graduated from high school (aced AP history, English and pol sci, but flunked Algebra twice and nearly flunked typing). He was so overwhelmed by trying to cope with high school that he didn’t have any energy left to take the SAT (if he had, I am confident that he would have landed in the top percentiles). At our urging, he attended community college for two years, but dropped out before getting his degree. He loved his professors’ lectures, but saw no point in homework, tests or having anyone else critique his writing. So he’s worked in a restaurant during the summers, delivered newspapers and moved furniture. He has no interest in degrees or achievement, and lives a spartan lifestyle. He knows that the odds of making a living from writing fiction are just about zip. Anyway, typically he doesn’t let anyone read his fiction (he writes only for his own pleasure, and has no desire to get published). Right now, he’s struggling to land a permanent, full-time blue collar job. He refuses to consider any type of office job. So long as he can spend his spare time crunching sports statistics (his obsession), he is happy doing manual labor. But getting even a blue collar job is tough, because he says very little, hates initiating contact and makes no attempt to toot his own horn.
Those who make the (considerable) effort to know him find him delightful. The family who gave him his first job (at the restaurant) were exasperated with him at first, but eventually came to worship him as The Best Employee They’d Ever Had.
Now that he’s in his mid-twenties, we really can’t afford to support him (and he desperately wants to support himself and live on his own). And yet, I’m not sure he can land a permanent, full-time job that pays enough to cover even his minimal living expenses. I’ve talked with him about the military, but fear that the regimented lifestyle and living in close quarters could be hell for an Aspie.
He likes girls and would make a devoted husband and father, but has never dated.
Honestly, I am proud of him. He’s an original thinker, and sees good in just about everyone. If we lived a century ago, I’d just find him a job in the family lumber mill or give him the family farm, and he’d be securely employed for life. But in our modern Age of the Extrovert, the odds are stacked against him.
Each Aspie’s situation is different, but the bottom line is the same: the condition complicates life considerably.