No One Knows...

We get some rules to follow
That and this, these and those
No one knows…..”

(‘No One Knows’. Song by Queen of the Stone Ages; album Songs for the  Deaf, 2002)

 Since the beginning of human civilization, especially with expansion beyond the extended family groups to form societies, rules and guidelines were established for everyone to follow. These rules were either dictated by a top power or agreed upon by consensus of the people. In early history, those rules and regulations were shared and broadcast verbally. Later, by written laws. They were communicated to the masses and became expectations.

As societies grew larger, and industrialization/capitalization expanded, most of the important rules and regulations, especially those that saved lives and livelihood, were taught in organizations: schools, churches, clubs, etc. As children we learn many of those rules, yet they vary by time, location, country and nation. Even family. For instance, many social rules and laws of Victorian England are no longer practiced or even known about; they don’t apply to us in this modern time. 

Numerous implicit social rules that are no longer communicated continue. Yet people were, and still are, expected to know and practice them regardless of if we are aware of them. They are the “unspoken rules”: behavioral constraints imposed in societies that are not typically voiced or written down. Any divergence is often considered abnormal, impolite, and intolerable. 

This isn’t a topic relegated to only social conduct. Many of these rules also exist amongst and are often reinforced by scientists. That does not mean that they are “science”, or infallible facts. Instead, they are interpretations and conclusions derived by experimentation, data collection, and interpretation by scientists. Scientific conclusions can be tested and either validated or flawed when a new investigation reveals another understanding. That’s the scientific way.

One almost universal human trait is humor. Ironically, a myriad of social unspoken rules and expectations exist surrounding humor. Despite the number of ways humor can be expressed and perceived, several strict rules are embedded in human conversation and body language. Humor, like most diverse human traits, can be experienced in a number of ways, often requiring personal and interpersonal assumptions and expectations. 

To be, or not to be, funny.

Humor is a human quality experienced as amusing, comical, or funny. Nearly all humans have the ability to feel or experience one or more of the aforementioned states. It evokes a range of responses in humans and even some other animals, such as non-human primates. Responses range from laughter (vocal and silent), play, panting “laugh”, and play facial expressions.

Likewise, the way humans express humor, or their response to other’s humor, is diverse. Some people laugh loudly, some simply smile or smirk, others shake their heads, roll their eyes, or do nothing. These behaviors are not always obvious amusement or expressions of fun. At least, in honesty. Many people pretend they are amused but in reality, they are not. Perhaps the joke or story is misinterpreted or, for some other reason, unappreciated as being amusing and funny. Perhaps there is no rewarding feeing of “getting it”: understanding and appreciating the humor. Some people don’t react at all.

An unspoken rule in most of our societies is to react in a way to express amusement or appreciation at another’s joke, comical act, etc. If a person does not react in this expected way, they are perceived as rude or stupid. That person may also be perceived as abnormal, even pathological. 

Two examples portray the latter. First, Parkinson’s, a neurogenerative disease, may affect functions (memory, reward, etc) of the brain that are involved in recognition and understanding humor. Many psychologists and even neuroscientists believe that laughter is the “glue” to relationships, society, and individual mental health. A neuroscientist studying Parkinson’s regards the lack of humor in afflicted patients as “symptoms that really affect the quality of life and relationships, so it’s really a pertinent thing to study.”(1) But is it really? Or just an unspoken rule and expectation of all human beings?

The second example is a perceived difference or pathology of many, if not most, neurodivergent children and adults on the Autism Spectrum. They often don’t laugh or understand all the conventional jokes and comical behavior of neurotypical people (not on the spectrum). It’s not always amusing or understood for various reasons. 

Briefly, autistic people don’t lack a sense of humor. Many like comedy and can be amusing. However, they don’t often engage with neurotypicals in “social interaction” laughter (unless they pretend to fit in). They don’t respond to the social cues to laugh at various things, funny or not. 

Another reason is that some autistic people simply don’t understand or make conventional-type jokes, especially contrived jokes. They may also not “get” humor because they think literally and logically. Or they may interpret things with different meanings. 

(These are the main reasons I don’t get sarcasm: I think literally and take a while to try and understand conventional joke "punch lines". However, I love dry humor; it is usually delivered very literally and directs attention to funny aspects by pointing out the obvious. I also like satire, which is usually riddled with dark sarcasm in conjunction with dry humor. Slap-stick comedy and Seinfeld-type delusional humor are too painful to watch.)

On the other hand, an expression of humor or laughing too loud by a neurodivergent person may be deemed inappropriate by neurotypical people. Too often the response by the latter is anger, resentment, or embarrassment. It “breaks the rules”. As one organization(2) that “embraces autism” states, “These differences in humor production and understanding may have a negative impact on social participation and the development of interpersonal relationships such as friendships.” This is biased.

Many neurotypical people believe and postulate that “individuals with autism do in fact want to laugh and make others laugh.” Is that true? Or an expectation and assumption by neurotypical people? Is it just another rule? 

The point being is that our society considers those that don’t align with the norm, aka don’t follow the unspoken rules, are abnormal, sometimes pathological, and therefore must be “fixed”. They are “broken”. The neurodivergent must always be trained or changed to conform to the norm, the convention, and abide the rules”, silent and communicated. The same organization referenced above states “it is crucial to teach individuals with autism humor to equip them with an important social skill to improve their social interactions with others.” Or to pretend to be normal, even when they don’t know or understand the rules. 

“You’re either with us, or against us.”

Us and Others

Modern society is highly homogenous, glued together by sameness that keeps the machine moving smoothly. But smoothly for only a relatively small section of the total population. They are the “Us”. They develop, consolidate and enforce the rules, the norm.

Those people that are different are the “Others’. They are either excluded, punished, or “invisible”. They must conform to the norm or be further excluded or punished. Rather than trying to learn and understand how the “others” think and feel, they must be fixed to be like everyone else. Again, referring to the website of the aforementioned organization, 

“In conclusion, humor is vital for one’s personal and social growth. Producing and responding to jokes appropriately helps to facilitate one’s interpersonal relationships. As individuals with autism may perceive jokes differently, we can use various strategies to equip them with the social skill of understanding humor in a conventional way.”

Doesn’t this seem biased, one-sided? It is! 

Perhaps us “Others” do have a sense of humor; it’s just different than that of the “Us”. However, it’s not terribly hard to try and better understand each other. People on the Spectrum have feelings, too. 

"We get some rules to follow

That and this, these and those

No one knows

We get these pills to swallow

How they stick in your throat

No one knows..."

 

1. "We now know why we find some jokes funny - thanks to Seinfeld," New Scientist, December 8, 2023.

2.    Autism and Humor (healisautism.com)

The world as a chocolate moose

I read the term "helicopter parenting" this morning and all I could picture was a helicopter and kids without connecting the maze of dots to the euphemism that it means.

Same with "ghosting" people. I didn't understand that until I got brave enough to ask last year what it meant. Recently, it was "gaslighting". (I don't look these things up with Google because I always think it's a social quirk that won't be found.)

Has anyone read the children's book, "Chocolate Moose for Dinner"? It's about homonyms. It may seem 'cute' and funny to most people, but it's actually a perfect description of literal thinking and communication for many people on the autism spectrum. (excellent article here) And why we don't understand most sarcasm and jokes.

I also think that may be why the overuse of 'like' in every sentence people speak makes me internally (and literally) cringe. Even my 6-yo grandson understands the meaning of the word 'like'.

Pangea gone wild

Pangea and the diversity of life. 

Most everyone knows what Pangea was: the largest supercontinent in Earth's history. All land masses united in a large group gathered together for a conference. They also shared all organisms on their surfaces before splitting into individual continents. 

This split didn't magically happen like many people think. It was a very long process. Pangea split into unequal halves forming two supercontinents: Laurasia and Gondwana. Additionally, these two landmasses continued sharing some flora and fauna over a long period of time.

Over millions of years further tectonic activity caused Laurasia and Gonwana to split into smaller landmasses gradually forming the continents we are familiar with today. This long process was a key impact on early evolution of both flora and fauna. 

The expanding distance between continents reduced exchanges of flora and fauna, eventually isolating many groups of life. Some fauna continued dispersal from continent to continent by rafts of islands or ice. Others migrated by air (e.g.seed and flying animals). Our knowledge of the degree of and when continental shifting impacted evolution of flora and fauna is continually evolving (pun intended) in the field of biogeography. There are two theories:

"Do new species come from animals populating new territory (called dispersal), or did populations get separated during Earth’s breakup (called vicariance)?"

We know that both dispersal and vicariance played roles in early evolution of nearly all flora and fauna. And we need to consider that distribution of life occurred over a long periods of time, even during different stages in the evolution of flora and fauna. Local, regional and continental changes in topography or climate can influence dispersal of isolated populations. It can also expand habitats for others enabling mixing of populations where isolation barriers once existed. 

Several approaches can help elucidate the contribution of vicariance or dispersal at different points of an organism's evolution. The most valuable is phylogenic trees, structural diagrams that represent evolutionary relationships among organisms. The pattern of branching in these trees reflects how groups and individuals of  organisms evolved from a series of common ancestors and their predicted evolutionary timing. They are evolutionary 'trees'. 

A group of scientists used the data within a set called the Timetree of Life. It is a phylogenic tree of life scaled to time. Using data for major freshwater and terrestrial vertebrate groups (animals with backbones: fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds and mammals) that were descended from common ancestors and represented on at least two continents, they examined when they diverged. 

Dates of divergence of those groups separated by continents lined up with the continents geographically separating. This supports the theory of vicariance over dispersal as the major cause for speciation. However, this may change as the data sets change. 

There are considerations that may impact this theory. One is the contribution of moving pieces of land, such as land bridges. Another is narrow bodies of water separating the shifting continents and facilitating both flora and land dispersal. 

As the author of the article highlighting the study commented, "this paper is swinging the pendulum between two competing ideas". And, as science is sometimes fraught with binary thinking, the two theories don't have to be a "competition", or mutually exclusive. Life isn't A or B; it is a dynamic collection of events that can happen together or seamlessly flow from one to the other. Generalizations don't always pan(gea) out. 

Humans are not islands

"Pathosystem" 

I like that term. It encompasses a systems perspective -both pathogen and host- rather than focusing on just a single component of a system. It is an ecosystems perspective with emphasis on pathogen-host-environment. 

My academic career spanned plant, animal and human pathology (except for the last several years in physiology). A systems perspective is always inherent in the first two, less so in human pathology. It's as if Descartes binary philosophy (separation of mind and body) extended to separation of body and the environment in which bodies exist. As medical specialization demonstrates, even separation of organs from the rest of the body. 

I have wondered if this might be a contributing factor in some of the failures of modern medicine. An example is the lack of translational research of human psychology and medicine. 

The prime example is diabetes: lot of research in physiology and pharmacology, but little research and application of how/what to inform and impact people to change and adopt behaviors that prevent and reduce diabetes. This extends also to social systems: education, policy, connecting the production, supply and access of nutritious food. 

We know how this works and how to achieve these goals with plants and animals. And we practice it, most of the time. The question is why can't we do it for ourselves, and other people? 

This is what we really need to focus on. It's that part of the 'ecosystem' that is dysfunctional. Science should be the leader in this. 

Why isn't it? Has that failed us, too?

Theories and uncertainty

I love this quote. Wish I had it on a rubber stamp. 

"Being unable to accurately measure the thing on which a theory is based is a fairly fundamental uncertainty." - John Kennedy, climate scientist and physicist

 Heisenberg's uncertainty principle in measurement, anybody? 

All change is not equal: good change and bad change

One commonly known trait of autism is fear of change. Reaction to change can be extreme, e.g. a 'meltdown', or mild, such as slight anxiety. It's usually inherent, but also adaptive. 

As a child and through early adulthood, I did not deal well with change. It always induced anxiety. Most times it manifested in a controlled way: part or complete shutdown. I just completely withdrew into myself and shut my mind and body 'off'. A few times it resulted in stomping, angry yelling, shaking, sweating, and/or crying. Commonly called 'tantrums'. But it was rarely explosive (mostly due to consistent shaming "Girls don't act that way!"*).

I remember my mother telling the adult me on the phone once, "You don't like change, do you." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. I realized she was right. Remembering something I saw on the TV a few years prior helped me to try and address that. 

During torrential flooding from a massive storm in California may years before, a river overflowed it's banks and flooded a town. A media crew in a boat was filming the damage and talking about it. As they floated past a house with water nearly up to the eaves, they asked a man on the roof what it was like. He smiled and calmly said "Change is good!!". 

That 30-second film clip is anchored in my brain. I reach for and use it whenever a big change is expected or pops up unexpectedly. It sets a stage for me to navigate through a change, be it having to go to a new doctor, moving across the country, losing my funding for research and finding a new position, going to a place I haven't been before, etc. Especially a change in routine. For example, unable to follow my gym schedule (this really upsets me) due to an illness or other demand. 

A more recent huge change was retiring from academia. I'm still dealing with that 10 years later, but better than immediately afterwards. Another was changing my  post-retirement routine, which was travelling around the country for nine years in my travel trailer and working at wildlife refuges. The latter was a sacrifice for my daughter and her family, and one I would not have made for anyone else. I'm still trying to adapt to that, too.

Being an adult with late-identified Asperger's, I had already established ways to mitigate many of my Asperger's idiosyncrasies. One is by masking my behavior (especially in academia). But that comes at a cost when done for too long. The edges start crumbling and people say I'm edgy and irritated. Or I'll shut down: I turn into a zombie. If I don't get a reprieve, I blow up. 

Some people ask me how I handled traveling around the country so often if I am on the autism spectrum. "You're not afraid of change! You can't be autistic.". That's not exactly correct. I'm not 'afraid' of change because logically I now know and accept that life is full of change. But I can get anxious about change. Sometimes more than others. And, after 5 decades I've learned ways to cope. Most times.

One is anticipation and expectation. If I know a change is coming, I plan for it. Often to the minute details. It then becomes a sequential adaptation. For my trips across country, I would plan routes, timing, location and time stops for gas, overnight stops, and arrivals. My biggest anxiety was breakdowns (which did happen once). 

Unanticipated changes are slightly different. If it involves sensory changes, it has more immediate responses that I can't control. Such as flashing lights, loud sounds, etc. "Everybody does!", you might think. Sure, but do they cause extreme physical and mental reactions that last too long? Does a loud muffler cause your entire body to shake, lose your balance, and your head feeling like it's going to explode for several minutes? Does a child's screaming sear your brain like hot pokers? (think of someone putting your head next to a fire siren) Do flashes of bright light cause you to lose balance and make you nauseous? Does constant dog barking feel like a hammer beating your head? If someone grabs/hugs/or touches me unexpectantly, I'll flail and back away in a 'fight or flight' response. (Please don't hug me.)

Sensory perception, integration and/or processing are different for many on the AS.  Learning about how the autistic brain is wired differently than neurotypical brains and how to mitigate reactions to triggers helps. I wear sunglasses a lot, my regular glasses have a tint to negate fluorescent lights, and are progressive darkening. I carry noise canceling ear plugs all the time. 

The last 40+ years have been forcefully camouflaging myself to be like the neurotypical 'normal'. But it has never been my 'normal'; rarely being myself. It's like wearing a costume most of the time. And it's exhausting. Meeting other neurodivergent people has been an awakening that I'm not alone. 

I now feel affirmed and courageous enough to ask people not to hug me or to ask first. (wish I had a shirt that read, "Please respect my personal space") Most times I compromise, but other times will be who and what I am: different. When necessary, I will tell a person I'm Asperger's, or on the AS. Mostly because I want to contribute to educating others about autism and change stereotypic 'typing' of autistics by neurotypical people. But also to encourage them to meet us halfway. 

Those are good changes.

👉For an excellent description of what the "Autism Spectrum" really is, read this webpage, "What Is Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)?". 

_________________________________

* One thing that has helped with that (all my life) is motion: pacing, twitching my leg, thumbing on a surface with my fingers, playing with my hair, bouncing on the balls of my feet, twirling my pen/pencil. Running is good; riding a horse or motorcycle is freedom. All the others mentioned were punished by my mother or teachers: slaps on the hands or knee, having to sit on my hands, told to stand still, etc. Later, it manifested in outdoor physical work and lifting weights. I wasn't hyper: it was a way of physically dealing with stress and anxiety. It 'quieted the brain and body'. 

In the mirror....

Discovering as an older adult that you are Asperger's: You feel fine most of the time. But you don't know if that's because you've dealt with it, or if you've buried it.  

History of obesity. In Denmark.

“The origins of the obesity epidemic may be further back than we thought”

A recently published paper concluded that the rise of obesity began earlier than conventionally assumed. (See article summarizing study: The Origins of Obesity in Science.)

"This study revealed that continuous steady increases since the interwar period in the upper percentiles of the BMI distribution preceded the obesity epidemic, with an almost similar pattern in the children and the young men." (published paper)

I agree with some of the criticisms of the study and conclusions, such as population sample=1 (Denmark). Is this trend replicated in other countries? 

Another comment from a biostatistician that “slow and steady increases in obesity don’t necessarily indicate an earlier onset of the epidemic [of obesity]”. A proper data pool for that would require data before 1930’s. 

A statement from the original published paper confirms my observation over the years traveling this country: “The acceleration of the obesity epidemic has been stronger in rural and provincial areas than in densely populated urban areas, which was seen already in the beginning of the rise of prevalence in obesity in Danish young men during the 1960s.”

And, like anything involving human behavior, the contributions are multifactorial.

The high prevalence of obesity in people of all ages in rural Ohio was a shock when I moved there in late 2001. 

During a conversation on this subject with a man (late 20’s) that I was training, he commented that as agriculture became industrialized it required less physical activity by all family members. However, the culture of food and eating amongst farm families remained the same: calorically dense food, especially fats, and large portions during meals. 

Consequently, while activity levels decreased, the energy balance became very skewed towards a positive high caloric net balance. Which, over time, results in increased body mass.  

We can see an eventual similar trend in urban areas over time, albeit slower. My hypothesis is that most rural families used to grow their own food, meat and vegetables/grains. So they had an almost guaranteed supply of food and energy. 

Urban people had to purchase all their food (and still do). Purchasing power for food was based on their incomes and other debts (rent, etc). History worldwide has shown that wealthy people always have had almost unrestricted access to food. For many centuries, being overweight was a social sign of being affluent. 

It was only during the last half century when increasingly more people began moving from rural to urban communities. Industrial agriculture and food processing caused a large shift in the nutritional content and availability of food, and the culture of food. 

As Gary said that day, “People of Ohio still love their corn and pork, and there is plenty of it here. But now everyone has desk and ‘standing still’ jobs. And the kids don’t play as much; they’re glued to their phones and video games.”

The dog genes tell stories

A fantastic genome study of 2000 canids tells a 'story' of selective dog breeding over time and space. 

"Incorporating 20 × data from 1987 individuals, including 1611 dogs (321 breeds), 309 village dogs, 63 wolves, and four coyotes, we identify genomic variation across the canid family, setting the stage for detailed studies of domestication, behavior, morphology, disease susceptibility, and genome architecture and function." (Also included revisions of pre-existing data from the earlier Boxer and German Shepard genome sets)

A highlight of this is a  "worldwide sampling of village dogs and niche populations, both of which fall outside the umbrella of pure or mixed breed dogs". I'm wondering if the Viking Dogs of Dublin project might have enough genome data of discovered remains to compare with this dataset. It would be fascinating to compare this snapshot from the Midieval dogs. 

The wolf data came from 57 wolves from differing geographical areas. I'm a bit disappointed in the limited (4) coyote individuals. Especially given the admixture events in coyotes with dogs and wolves. 

"Analysis of mitochondrial data reveals surprisingly few haplotypes in dogs, with greater observed variation in wild canids." What this means is a limited pool of wild canids from which our modern breeds were first selected for domestication. 

The analyses included many comparisons: "The major clades [primary groups] are made up of breeds sharing occupation, morphological traits, and/or geographic origin. Within the larger clades, additional structure can be found with subclades (97% average cluster confidence) displaying a second layer of similarity. In some cases, clade structure reflects the relationships among breed varieties."

It revealed many surprises. e.g. in a closely related group, the Am Eskimo dog and Japanese Spitz were created from the German Spitz. 

What this analysis does is reveal the history of breeding (mostly via human selection), and results, by crossing within and between clades.  e.g. breeds within the terrier clades (breeds sharing terrier traits) as well as between the terriers and the Mastiff clades. 

"For instance, there is a long-standing history of terrier and mastiff-type breeds being crossed in the mid-1800s to form multiple bull terrier- and terrier-like breeds such as the Staffordshire Bull Terrier and the Boston Terrier. There is also excessive sharing between the Mastiff clade and the Retriever clade that has not been observed in previous phylogenies, but suggests recent admixture between these breeds or their ancestors. German Shepherd Dogs and related breeds show the largest number of admixture events with independent breeds from multiple clades. German Shepherd Dogs, specifically, have sharing values greater than 95% of background levels with 29 breeds from 13 clades and three of the non-clade breeds. !!Breeds within the German Shepherd clade are the only ones showing significant levels of haplotype sharing with wolves.!!"

All dog breeds involve some level of inbreeding (at individual and population level). That level can be estimated by comparing sets of DNA variants of gene alleles (the two versions of a gene on the same chromosome) that tend to be inherited together (haplotypes).  When two alleles are identical, they are said to be homozygous. When different, they are heterozygous. Runs of homozygosity (ROH) in an individual genome results from the inheritance of two copies of an ancestral haplotype in that individual. Thus they are homozygous by descent.  

The measure of individual or population level inbreeding is the estimated proportion of a genome that is in ROH.  "For all dog breeds, selection has involved some level of inbreeding and this has resulted in a wide range in ROH across breeds." The analyses maps proportions of historical levels of inbreeding of breed groups, breeds and sub-breeds within the groups, and compares them to feral/wild canids, including wolf and coyote. 

As you can surmise, selective inbreeding results in high levels of ROH (because humans select for specific behavioral or physical traits and interbreed to retain them). The wolf, coyote, and wild/feral canids, have the lowest level of inbreeding (coyote has the lowest of all, but based on only two individuals). 

The study also included analysis of size and breed diversity, as well as structural gene variation. The latter "plays a variety of roles in genome evolution, adaptation, and gene expression." It also searched for signatures of selection among major breed groups. 

Of major importance is the analysis of mitochondrial genomes. Keep in mind that mitochondrial genome is inherited only from the female line throughout historical descent. "Across the 1933 individuals, only 887 unique mitochondrial sequences (haplotypes) were observed. The most common was present in 52 individuals, and the 12 most common haplotypes were observed in 20% of samples (393/1933 individuals)." What this means is a limited number of female individuals form the basis of dog breeds. Would be interesting to know how many of those sets are completely or mostly associated with wolf source.

Analyses extended to causal homozygous (two copies of an allele on a chromosome) genotypes for autosomal recessive diseases, risk factors, or traits and their associated genes. As we  know, long lines of inbreeding often lead to increased recessive diseases and traits. Interestingly, this information has also been compared to diseases in humans for a few decades, providing insight to diseases in both human and canine.

A conclusion many of us already knew: "German Shepherd Dogs and related breeds show the highest allele sharing with independent breeds from multiple clades." 

 Compassionate Eye Foundation / David Leahy Getty Images 

Coming out of the closet. Finally.

I know I'm not alone in this. So many ghosts linger in the void who didn't know, didn't have a word for it. They, we, were strangers living in a strange land. 

I and a close friend from long ago used to call it "The Outliers' Club". We didn't fit into the belly of the area under the curve called 'Normal.' In retrospect, I had many friends like that. My father was like that. They were 'different' (sometimes I used the term "abby-normal"), but not from me. We were different, to various degrees, from most of the multitudes that occupied life around us. 

This realization wasn't obvious to me for too long in my life, although as a teenager I felt something about me was different. Or everyone else was different. I just didn't understand it nor other people. After graduation I moved to live in the Maine woods. It was quiet: being surrounded by the natural world (which I felt more at home in), my books and music, apart from the trappings of society. I could enter and leave it when I wanted. Keeping my distance from people, physically and emotionally, I was able to form my own reality closer to my own preference. The solitude was, and always has been, my friend. My silence was comfortable. Most of my expression, when the urge came, went into writing. 

After my daughter was born I forced myself to integrate and participate more in society for her sake. I fell into a relationship with a man who was kind, patient and undemanding of conformity (mostly). I sought to organize and channel all my weird thoughts and ideas into a productive university education and profession. I followed my strongest interests: the living sciences. All of them, at the micro- and macroscopic level. 

How it started

My first realization of problems was with numbers, and one I hid as best as I could for many decades. I had the equivalent of dyslexia with numbers (now called 'dyscalculia'). In high school, I failed algebra twice. The third time, the teacher recognized I had issues with ordering/reading/thinking in numbers, but not arithmetic concepts. He patiently reassured me I wasn't stupid and tutored me in how to negotiate the world of numbers. I had to write all numbers and equations down on paper, methodically solve equations step by step, and slow down to avoid increasing anxiety. His recommendation of separating long strings of numbers into groups of three by using dashes is still helpful.

I had nightmares (still do) for as long as I can remember of being unable to correctly dial phone numbers, transposing the numbers over and over. It was worse when in those dreams a person was in distress and I was trying to call for help. I would wake up in panic attacks. All through university and my years in academia, this was a deficit that I managed to hide well. Until I learned later (after I retired) that several scientists, even mathematicians, also had dyscalculia. 

Back in high school, there was no name for this. I remember how much relief I felt when I learned about dyscalculia as an adult in my 50's. My 'stupidity' finally had a name and I didn't feel stupid about it anymore. Regardless, I didn't reveal it to anyone, even my family, until a few years ago. I came out of that 'closet' intact. 

Most of my childhood, teen years and early adulthood, I was a person of few words. A few traumatic events resulted in total silence: I literally could not talk for periods of time. It was like my throat was paralyzed. I remember that vividly to this day. When I was 17, my mother sent me to a therapist in the city, where she found me a room at the Y to stay for a few days. I think that being away from the rest of the family provided me the space I needed to deal with a private event. But, even now when I am angry or distressed, I freeze up vocally and I want to be alone.

On the other hand, because my interests vary widely, even outside of my academic career, I now enjoy talking about topics in history, philosophy and science. My father was similar, which I didn't acknowledge until much later. He was a polymath: well-read and versed in physics, chemistry, all the life sciences, music, history, philosophy, and languages. Even theology. Just not other people (unless they were notables in history, science or music). Oddly, he was also interested in poetry, and could recite poems verbatum from memory. 

After I realized we were alike, we often had long phone conversations along these many topics on the phone. Likewise, my conversations with others were also on topics that interest me. I had no interest in meaningless chats and especially gossip. I still don't but try my best to engage in a limited amount of it for social ease. However, I sometimes realize that I am talking too much about things other people have little or no interest. 

Once, my date and I were sitting around a campfire with other people, and I rambled on too long about a recent discovery that red fire ant queens clone themselves. My date quickly interrupted a question from another person by saying aloud, "You don't want to ask her!" I didn't then and still don't catch sarcasm. 

I still struggle with picking up facial expressions of others when my discussions have gone on too long. Or when I mention aloud data points or observations in my current thoughts. I see blank stares and realize they have no idea what I'm talking about. 

What higher education did for me was learning to organize the constant barrage of thoughts in my head into a cohesive stream of consciousness that made sense, and that I could use to form questions and answers. They were always there; I just didn't know what to do with them. It was like the universe opened up and invited me in. 

A former close male friend from forty years ago recently asked me why I chose to be a biologist; he never expected that. "It was always there in me. I just didn't know what to do with all of it. 'I can't help it; I was drawn this way.'" (Referenced from Jessica in the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit.)

Hypersensitivities

I exhibited negative reactions to certain stimuli during early childhood, not realizing that I had sensory hypersensitivities until my early teens. I abhorred loud noises and certain sounds, running away from loud parades, covering my ears and humming with sirens, and having to wear earmuffs during fireworks. Some sounds (triggers) make my head 'explode' (loud mufflers, engine breaking, snoring, incessant dog barking, loud chatting, screaming children, leaf blowers, and, ironically, the German language). Noise cancelling earplugs have been a godsend. 

Certain smells also bothered me, to the point of physical distress. Anything perfumed like most laundry and bathing soap, but especially body perfumes, made my head pound and being nauseous. Much to my father's chagrin, limburger cheese did the same. I would run up into my bedroom and shove clothes or bedding under the door to stop the smell from entering.  I can smell the weather changes in the air, and people give me strange looks when I mention it.

My department on the 13th floor in my last position dubbed me the 'canary'. A common issue was poor air cleaning/circulation. I could sense the sour odor in the restroom across from my lab of backed up wastewater in the building long before anyone else could. And the metallic smell of industrial air on our floor that escaped the air cleaners on top of the building. After realizing I had a heightened sense of smell, the office laughed when I called to alert them. 

I also had, and still have, an aversion to crowds. Malls gave me anxiety; sometimes panic attacks and I'd get dizzy and can't breath. A visit to a mall to find work suits decades ago was my first real awareness of this. It was crowded and I felt dizzy and nauseous, having to lean against a wall to keep from collapsing. My body screamed "Escape!".

My personal space is bigger than most and I'm not a huggy person. Except for my immediate family, I feel like shrinking into myself; stiffening and becoming invisible when hugs are attempted. I avoid isles in stores with a lot of people; getting in and get out as fast as possible (and I hate shopping.) When I am in amongst groups of people, I try to move to the edges and 'lurk'. My whole life has been lurking on the edges.

While visiting a friend in Manhattan (shortly after 9/11), he took me to Time Square. It was a disaster. With a long-standing sensitivity to light, the crowds, noise and flashing lights prompted a panic attack. Only many years later did I learn that my responses to such stimuli was really that: a hypersensitive panic attack. Otherwise, I only knew one thing: fight or flight, and I had to get out.

Lack of social graces

In grad school I became aware that I had trouble speaking to groups of people. Apparently, I was too direct and said the 'wrong things'. I took a technical writing class (two, in fact) that included presentations. I forced myself to learn how to quiet the animal inside to speak clearly and eloquently. As a faculty member at three academic universities, I learned to mingle and communicate better. My first decade as a researcher required giving presentations at conferences, which became easier. My sister-in-law took me shopping to help choose proper suits for me. I had no sense of fashion (still don't). 

During those early years I also had to learn about sensitivities with other people. Unlike many (most?) people in the autism spectrum, I engage with others by strong eye contact. If I don't, I fumble in 'reading' people. (I also have hearing loss in one ear from childhood illnesses. I read lips to fill in blanks that I can't hear.)  Apparently, this distresses some people. While in New York City, my friend strongly advised me to look down when amongst strangers, especially on the street. I still don't understand why, but it bothers people. 

I tend to be blunt and honest to a fault. Evidently, some people can't handle that, either. A student worker told me almost in tears that I am "intimidating". The department head diplomatically told me she would rather I did not attend a meeting with others discussing my research budget. She would serve in my stead. That was a hammer that made me realize I needed to learn how to talk to other people with more sensitivity. (Ironically, years later at a different university and lab, I was asked by a colleague to coach him on how to talk to his all-female lab staff so they wouldn't cry.)

Despite that I occasionally joined colleagues in the lunchroom or for coffee, I was branded as being "unfriendly and anti-social" in the departments. I avoided volunteering for committees (they were a waste of my time) and hardly ever attended social and holiday functions. It appeared this behavior was unacceptable, even jeopardized promotions during more than half of my career. Ironically, a colleague, who became a good friend, chastised other department members during one of those meetings, commenting that I am not unfriendly or anti-social; "She's just careful about who she chooses as friends and likes her privacy."

All those decades, and through failed intimate relationships, I never stopped being a stranger in a strange land and asking myself "What's wrong with me?". My mother used to yell at me, even as an adult, "You're just like your father!". It wasn't until several years before my father passed away, and I learned I had Asperger's Syndrome, did I understand my father's weird quirks and his lack of social graces. I was much like my father, who also was (undiagnosed) Asperger's. But I learned to understand and adjust better than he, even if some of it requires pretending.

I was teased (still am) about being a bit more OCD than the normal person. I managed my labs and office tightly and was referred to as the 'Lab Nazi' in one department. Another time (different university), the department head mentioned in an introduction to a visiting speaker that our lab was the cleanest in the department. I wanted to shrink during the laughter after that. 

My fortune was working with a MD/PhD in neuroscience and psychology who is very ADHD with no apologies to anyone. I would steer him back to finish his sentences when he often went off tangent. We worked together very well appreciating the complementation of our strengths. I was glad I could confide in and discuss my recent Asperger's diagnosis with him. He assured me I've already adapted well and will continue to. "Learn to appreciate who and what you are. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

I also realized that most of my closer friends, at least in adulthood, were also on the spectrum. I think we tend to gravitate to those who are like us. My closest friend was a male 15 years younger, yet we thoroughly knew each other, possibly better than we knew ourselves. We complemented each other intellectually. Because he also was graduate of the life sciences, we shared thoughts and ideas and collaborated in business and projects during my hiatus from academia. His mind was very linear, whereas I think in systems and patterns, complementing each other in our pursuits. I also helped him adjust with his issues by suggesting he observe and mimic other people in social interactions. Unfortunately, his wild mood swings challenged our relationship more than once. After over a decade of close friendship, it completely fell apart. But I still very much miss his friendship.

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It's now 16 years after learning why I have always felt like a stranger. Because I have feared the stereotyping and stigma by other people, especially during my academic career but also my own family, that knowledge has been buried. No headstone, no obituary, no memorial; just buried in an unmarked grave. I even refused to learn more about neurodiversity and being a functional adult on the spectrum. The diagnosis of being Asperger's has explained most of my oddities, and I still learn to adapt. 

Discovering as an adult that you are Asperger's is like you feel fine most of the time. But you don't know if that because you've dealt with it, or you've buried it.

Recently I discovered a local friend who is also neurodivergent. And she has an autistic son. She recognized my neurodivergence quickly without any prompts from me. She is also an advocate for neurodiversity. It was a relief for me to finally be accepted for what I am in a long time. We have talked long about how we adapt and about the lack of awareness of neurodivergent people, young and old. She has given me the courage to take steps and "come out of the closet", especially to my remaining family, my sister and daughter. I mentioned once that it would be easier to come out and tell people I'm gay (if I was gay). 

But she and Phil are right: I need to accept and appreciate who I am. Keeping this secret is exhausting. 

This is MY reality. Welcome to it!

Secrets in a Strange Land

 "The secret always finds its way out, if not in words, then somatically, and most often in a way that it can be dealt with and helped in a straightforward manner. [Usually] So what does the woman do when she finds the secret leaking out? She runs after it with great expenditure of energy. She beats, bundles, and burrows it back down into the dead zone again, and builds larger defenses. She calls inner guardians and ego defenders to build more doors, more walls. The woman leans against her latest psychic tomb, sweating blood and beathing like a locomotive. 

A woman who carries a secret is an exhausted woman. Secrets cause a person to become haunted."

- excerpt from Women Who Run with Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

What do you complain about the most?

 What do you complain about the most?

Noise, the unpleasant energy sound waves that reach my ears, disrupt the waves in my brain leading to physical and mental unsettlement. It’s like nasty hands that pull part of my brain and pound nails into it, making my whole mind and body flinch.

                                                                    Me

 

Quantum evolution

To fully understand evolution, and life itself, one must be able to grasp quantum theory (quantum mechanics is mostly mathematical equations at the microscopic level and not at all required to conceptually understand quantum systems). General relativity is also a quantum system. 

Seeing time only through clocks and calendars will never give us any kind of appreciation of time on a larger scale. Those are metrics, but are not really time itself. Same with evolution: it exists at many points and flows back and forth. It really can't fit into what we consider as 'time'.  

Biophysicist Werner Loewenstein succinctly presents evolution as a quantum system of information.*  Rather than thinking of evolution following a linear path in time, it is information in the quantum realm, constantly shifting places like tiny sand particles on an ocean beach. 

Thus, evolution is chunks of information existing in the future and the past. What we see is how it manifests only at any point within that realm. There is no moment of 'creation' just as there is no moment of 'end'. Species don't magically appear; they evolve, and devolve. 

"It is difficult to even talk about an instant of time, because we can’t even say with certainty which “chunks” of space-time lie in the future and which in the past." -physicist Jonathan Oppenheim 

Evolution requires us to jump off that restrictive scale and think in terms of shifting sands.

* The Touchstone of Life. Werner Loewenstein, 1998.

Quantum time, quantum people

It's unnerving, and rather irritating, when someone you reconnect with after 4+ decades tries to pin you to a point on a linear time scale, expecting you not to move from that point.

Change is the only certainty in life, perhaps in all reality. Some people box their memories of another on a point in time and expect them to permanently reside there, existing only within the two points on a timeline, their timeline. Then ask many years, timelines, later why we aren't still sitting on that stretch of time. It's worse when that stretch of time is relatively short.

Same could be said of history. History is not just one recollection or explanation of a point or stretch of time. It's multiple recollections, even interpretations. Any narrative of history should always be considered in that way. Partly because of the quantum nature of time, where past, present and future are the same (time flows back and forth, it never stands still). Even if we were present in a point of historical time, our recollection is within the frame of our own mind. And our recollections are biased.

What I eventually realized was that person has pinned his or herself to that point in time, and thus the image of another person occupying that same point never moves on. And neither does the image of his or herself. Those people are prisoners of their own minds, stuck on a small point or stretch of time, refusing (or afraid) to move forward. And expecting other people to be the same. 

                                    Henrik Sorensen/Getty

Whose afraid of Virginia Woolf?

While reading this post about Virginia Woolf,  I was reminded of an internal and eternal dialogue pondering the question of how we perceive 'alone' and 'lonely'. The problem is that the two are not synonymous, although the wide perception often is. 'Alone' is not always 'lonely'. Yet, we are conditioned to think that anyone that is alone is 'lonely'. 

Semantically, 'alone' can mean 'solitude'. A person can be literally alone: by one's self away from other people. It may feel comfortable or uncomfortable. I can be alone, the only human on a mountain top, and not lonely; I feel solitude and connected to all life round me. Likewise, a person can be 'alone' and unconnected in a crowd of people, but comfortable with it. It's usually a choice. It's less about our circumstance, but how we react to them.*

But 'loneliness' is less ambiguous: it's a feeling of being alone, unconnected, and not liking it. Both are internal states, but loneliness is less related to what is going on around us. It's a fear of solitude. 

Individually there is a wide area-under-the-curve for each on what is comfortable and what is not. Yet, the cultural definition and expectations for everyone, including children, are quite narrow and contradictory. We are expected to know ourselves, but to always be 'social', e.g. with other people. Unfortunately, too many people don't know themselves, or are uncomfortable being alone with themselves. They fear it.

So it's an illusion, created by ourselves and society. 

In the medical community and the public mindset people are expected to always be surrounded by other people. Those that prefer to be alone are almost always considered 'unwell' or 'abnormal' because, culturally, 'alone' = 'lonely'. Then comes the judgement deluge.

Those two terms don't take into consideration the time element: always, occasionally, mostly, etc. Those adverbs are important because they quantify the the amount of alone time. Or even when feeling lonely. 

Some people feel they have to be with another person, or amongst other people, all the time. I've known a few people (mostly women, but a few men, too) who almost have panic attacks when they are alone. Their loneliness is overwhelming, usually because they don't know themselves, or they fear being alone with themselves. Perhaps they even fear not knowing themselves; they lack self-esteem.

There's also a gender bias: women are expected to always be surrounded by people, and in a personal relationship with another (usually a man, but that's another topic...). Men.... not so much, if at all. In a few countries, cultural acceptance of a woman alone in public, especially without a male, is prohibitive. It's like requiring your dog on a leash when in public. 

Alternatively, because I'm a woman that prefers solitude most of the time and lives alone the all too-common perception is that I'm lonely. I've had to fend off questions and comments from others implying judgement, such as pity or concern of unwellness. Especially, 'You don't have a man so you must be lonely and helpless'. Or, 'There's something wrong with you.' That's the expectation associated with perceptions of 'alone' and 'loneliness' of many women.

'Alone' and 'lonely' are illusions we create about ourselves and others (Virginia Woolf refers to it as 'a reality', which is partly correct). And with those illusions, we place judgement and expectations on ourselves and others. We celebrate self-esteem. But we stigmatize spending time with the person we should know, and like, the best: ourselves.

Woolf's writings exemplified the strong pervasive feelings of loneliness and the illusions of it. In a diary entry she wrote of this as being a 'reality': 

"That is one of the experiences I have had...and got then to a consciousness of what I call “reality”: a thing I see before me: something abstract; but residing in the downs or sky; beside which nothing matters; in which I shall rest and continue to exist. Reality I call it."

Woolf's angst (she was bipolar) with what was 'real' for her, and the societal illusions and expectations about being alone and lonely (especially as a woman), ultimately influenced her choice to end her life. Ironically, over a century later, that societal perception still exists. 

In her post, author Maria Popova writes,

"There is a kind of loneliness that lodges itself in the psyche and never fully leaves, a loneliness most anguishing not in solitude but in companionship and amid the crowd. If solitude fertilizes the imagination, loneliness vacuums it of vitality and sands the baseboards of the spirit with the scratchy restlessness of longing — for connection, for communion, for escape. And yet it is out of this restlessness that so many great works of art are born."

On the other hand, solitude lacks an illusion, or sense of loneliness, and it also feeds imagination and creativity. Journalist and Buddhist Zat Rana writes, 

"When you surround yourself with moments of solitude and stillness, you become intimately familiar with your environment in a way that forced stimulation doesn’t allow.

The world becomes richer, the layers start to peel back, and you see things for what they really are, in all their wholeness, in all their contradictions, and in all their unfamiliarity. You learn that there are other things you are capable of paying attention to than just what makes the most noise on the surface."

Being alone does not always have to mean 'loneliness'. Not all of us are afraid of Virginia Woolf, of living life free of illusion.

* Some people like feeling lonely, but that is more of a pathological issue and I'm not delving into that except for my reference to Virginia Woolf. 

Muscles don't have memories!!

Peeve: When the scientific community can't agree on a definition consensus for a term, such as 'muscle memory'. 

Muscles don't have memories. Brains do. 

Ask anyone in a gym and you'll get four or more interpretations of what 'muscle memory' is or means. Ask scientists and you'll get one of three; each thinking they offer the only correct definition. 

This was a frequent source of amusement in our lab (neuromuscular pathology); we agreed to avoid the term unless being sarcastic. We often used the general term 'muscle plasticity': the ability of a given muscle to alter its structural and functional properties in accordance with the environmental conditions imposed. That's what muscles do. 

Then, what IS muscle memory?

According to Wikipedia (and a more summarized definition in Oxford Dictionary), 'muscle memory' is:

"...a form of procedural memory that involves consolidating a specific motor task into memory through repetition, which has been used synonymously with motor learning. When a movement is repeated over time, the brain creates a long-term muscle memory for that task, eventually allowing it to be performed with little to no conscious effort. This process decreases the need for attention and creates maximum efficiency within the motor and memory systems."

So, what is muscle plasticity? 

Phenotypic* plasticity allows single genotypes to express different phenotypes under diverse environmental conditions. Organisms, and tissues (some more than others), respond to different environments by changing how they act, look or function. Skeletal muscle is a highly plastic tissue. 

For example, exercise initiates signaling pathways that modify muscle fiber metabolic, physiological and contractile properties of skeletal muscle (sometimes referred to as 'remodeling'). That is 'muscle plasticity'. Whereas exercise can also evoke memories (conscious and subconscious) in the brain of how movements are executed. It is a back-and-forth communication between muscles and the brain via the central nervous system. That is  'muscle memory'.

In language, adjectives connote specificity. In particular, 'neuromuscular plasticity' and pathology were the focus of our research. Muscle plasticity requires the coordinated interaction between neurons and muscles, but pathology narrows the focus. Disease or injury of motor system components, including responsive proteins in muscle fibers, can lead to muscular motor dysfunction. Like all tissues, biological/molecular processes are included. 

One example is muscular dystrophy: a disease in which one or more muscle proteins are absent or dysfunctional because of genetic aberrations that interrupt the signal between the motor neurons and the ability of the muscle to respond. It has little if anything to do with procedural memories, aka 'muscle memories', in the brain. A muscle group without dystrophin won't be able to contract, irrespective of any 'muscle memory' in the brain. 

Using the correct language is imperative for science communication within the scientific community. Incorrect** and vague terms are perpetuated throughout communication and education (formal and informal) outside of that community, such as with medical professionals, trainers, social media, etc. Yet confusion remains if members of the scientific community do not consistently use correct definitions of terms. This needs fixing.

Summarily, the use of the term 'muscle memory' should be restricted to the associations of movement and 'memories' established in the brain. Better yet, these terms are better:

• Procedural memory ( or 'Kinesthetic memory'): the automatic movements involved in throwing a ball, dancing, swimming, steering a vehicle, typing, or even squats.), or
• Motor memory:  process by which animals can adopt both persistent and flexible motor behaviors. 
  
  

MUSCLES DON'T HAVE MEMORIES!
Brains do.

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* Phenotypic is the observable traits of an individual resulting from the interaction of its genes (genotype) and its environment. 

** Many researchers have recently published papers in scientific journals and still use the term 'muscle memory' in the context of muscle biology/molecular biology and physiology without ANY reference to -'memories' formed and stored in the brain! 

Being inside out

Modern biotechnology is wonderful. It reveals wonders that we can't see without it. It tells us more about ourselves and about each other, about living things that surround us. Ironically we can see inside our bodies, but still scratch our heads on the outside wondering how we tick inside our brains.

Many years ago, while spending days [1] extracting DNA from large quantities of white blood cells from cows' blood, I added a small tube of my own WBCs. There was room in the centrifuge; why not? The feeling of seeing thin threads of your own DNA floating in solution inside a gently rocking test tube is inexplicable. 

Those fine threads were a history catalog of generations before me, before my mother and father, before them. They were strings of time more ancient that any of us can fathom, carrying the instructions on what makes me human. And how similar yet different I am from each of you. Ironically, even similar to the thick ropes of cow DNA rocking alongside in their own test tubes.

Trypanosoma theirleri and red blood cells

[1] I collaborated with a colleague to develop a sensitive assay (PCR) for detection of microscopic single-celled parasites (Trypanosomes) in the blood of cows. They literally beat up blood (red and white) cells with their 'tails' (flagellum) and weaken the animal's immune system. The process entailed extracting DNA from the fraction of liters of blood containing the WBC; in that fraction were the parasites and their DNA. A close 'cousin' of the same parasite causes Sleeping Sickness in humans.