I've recently finished reading the book Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, Ph.D., and I am working through his presented exercises. The first is to 'find your why' by thinking about five moments in your life when you felt truly alive. So I decided to detail the five that I thought of here.
Moment 1: The day I finished writing Call of Descent
Call of Descent was the most I'd written of one story. It was the most research, time, energy, and daydreaming I'd ever devoted to any one story in my life. I felt an immense sense of accomplishment the moment I wrote the last word. Visions that had been trapped in my head, a story only I knew, could finally be shared with anyone that could read English. I had created an entire universe full of people I understood and a story that I could control to have a happy ending, that I could read the way I wanted other books to read. It made my life feel worth something because I had accomplished something no other person could: birthing the story in my mind into this reality.
Moment 2: The photograph day trip in November 2007
That cold day in November, there was no snow, just a massive amount of hoarfrost and a -27 C temperature. Being alone in the car, driving at my own speed, and stopping whenever I saw a moment I wanted to capture and freeze forever in time was refreshing. I loved being able to find things that were overlooked and frame them with my camera in a way that could capture the attention of whoever saw them. There were certain moments when I would get out of the car, and my senses were met with the prickly cold sting of the air, the muted sounds of winter, the tinkling sound of ice particles colliding with each other in the air, and the smell of winter. All things that awaken something creative inside of me. I loved seeing the flash-frozen colours of nature. I got my favourite photograph I've ever taken that day—a fallen dead tree, blue-grey from hoarfrost covered in lichen that was flash-frozen a lime gree. The twisting form of the branches gave me a sense of natural peace. I was enchanted by this moment to which I was the only witness. I felt like I'd stumbled into the fairy world, and the noisy chaos I'd left behind had faded to nothing because time passed me by while I stood there, and I didn't care. I wanted that moment between me and God to last forever. I can recreate that every time I look at the photographs I took.
Moment 3: The first time I saw the Matrix in 1999 at the age of 15
The moment The Matrix started in that darkened theatre, I felt completely alone, watching someone explore how the inner workings of my mind functioned. The journey that Neo went through was thrilling to me in every way; every step closer he got to understanding who he was and what his true potential was, gave me frisson (a psychophysiological response to rewarding auditory and/or visual stimuli that often induces a pleasurable or otherwise positively-valenced affective state and transient paresthesia (tingling sensation), sometimes along with piloerection (hair raising) and mydriasis (dilated pupils) (Wikipedia)). The moment when Neo finally realized he was The One, finally understood the full extent of the potential he held within him, I swear my heart stopped beating. It was a magical moment. The frisson I feel when I see something click in a person's mind that they never understood before is unmatched by anything else I have experienced in this reality. I walked out of that movie with the most alexithymia (problems with understanding or feeling emotions) I had ever experienced. It took me three days to calm down the emotions within me, possibly because I never wanted the feelings ever to stop.
Moment 4: Walking to the cliff behind Ginn's house and meeting the wild horses
I couldn't tell you what Ginn and I talked about that day. I think one of us was upset, and we skipped school. We left her house, and she showed me the pathway she took through the forest to get to the cliff above the Kootenay river behind her house. I'm not sure we spoke much, but the presence of someone I felt close to in a place I loved calmed me and made me happy. I liked sharing a quiet, intimate place with another presence. Seeing the same things, experiencing them differently, and yet being able to expand each other's view of the space by talking. On our way back to her house, we came to a small clearing and stumbled into the middle of a group of wild horses that roamed the crown land we were on. Right in the middle of the herd was a foal. I was enchanted and also wholly unaware of the potential danger that we were in until Ginn started telling me instructions about what to do to get away from the herd without provoking their brooding instincts. Being among untamed wildlife didn't scare me at that moment. Instead, I was fascinated by my proximity to wild-spirited animals examining us from every angle to see if we would threaten that which they held most dear. The instinct of protection that I could see in the movements of those horses was breathtaking. I had no qualms about letting them lead the interaction, whatever form that took, and I loved the silent moment we had as the horses figured out what to do with the interlopers in their midst. They must not have felt threatened by our presence, as the lead stallion didn't bother with us at all and slowly led the herd away from where we were. I desperately wanted to show them somehow that I wanted to be one of them and gallop away with their same freedom.
Moment 5: The silence I found at a Japanese temple in Kyoto
One of my longstanding special interests is in Japanese culture. My first and only trip abroad, in 2004, took me to the cultural centre and old capital of Japan, Kyoto. My idea for making my trip the best possible way was to visit as many temples and gardens as possible because the art of Zen and the ancient architecture of Japan are the most aesthetically pleasing things to me. My uncle and I would wander around the city, from temples to shrines to palaces and gardens. I wanted to absorb as much of their cultural history as I could. Three moments defined that trip for me: 1) The Sanzen-In temple garden in Ohara, where the garden was so meticulously well kept and so thought out that I could never appreciate in the small amount of time that I was there all the detail that had been put into its cultivation. 2) The Nijo-Jo (castle) with the nightingale floor. A floor meant to make it impossible for assassins to sneak into the palace by the most brilliant and stunning feat of ancient architecture where they made the walkway around the castle squeak when walked on. Still, not just any squeaking, it sounded, no word of a lie, like a Nightingale bird singing. The care, ingenuity, and craftsmanship to do that amaze me, and I still hate that we build things in the modern world for function and forget form and artistry. Items can be both functional and beautiful. 3) The pathways through the grounds of the Shōren-in temple in the Gion district of Kyoto, although in a thoroughly busy Japanese city, carried a natural silence that I have never been able to find again. There was a moment, as I stared at the sun setting on a temple building hidden behind a lantern at the bottom of a stone stairway, surrounded by bamboo, that was so serene, so enchanting, that I was able to hear the sound of a crow's wings slicing through the air. I forgot to breathe altogether as I saw everything connected: humans, fauna, flora, and God.
The next part of this exercise is this: Identify your core values. Can you see what my core values are? They seem elusive and hard to grasp for me.