For the first six months at my "new" job I described what I do as, "working with autistic first graders," until someone corrected me. "They're first graders with autism. Their autism doesn't define them." It made sense and I felt really guilty and my extremities felt weak and I felt stupid. I just shrugged and smiled sheepishly and then spent the next few days replaying that moment in my mind, cringing on the inside at how dismissive or defensive or unempathetic I must have looked - just shrugging like that.

That always happens. I always do things like that, say something insensitive or react to something in a way that I know is not socially acceptable or maybe just not "nice" and then I end up hating myself for it. I will argue with myself, internally - like, "who says things have to be THIS way? why is there a code of ethics and who came up with this code? why should I feel bad if I made someone feel bad?" but then I still do. Feel bad. I can't really help it.

Sometimes I wonder if working with children with autism is the best job for me. By nature, they live inside of themselves and my job is to bring them out - if only a little bit. I struggle with whether this is even necessary. At all. Maybe it is so they can, like, function in life but then I think about the fact that I'm 26 and I'm not autistic and sometimes I can't even function.

I take walks with one of my students every day. He likes to go outside and so do I, even in the snow, even in the rain, even when it's really cold. During our walks, I always think to myself, "I should be talking to him, getting him to label things in the environment, asking him questions." I think those things but I don't do them.

Sometimes I just sing songs or act out obscure scenes from The Little Mermaid. He loves Ursula and so do I. He has no concept of what is "in" or "interesting" or "counterculture" or fucking"subversive" - he just likes when Ursula gets really big and takes over as ruler of the sea. It makes him laugh. His simplicity is inspiring. And, I realize that none of the things I do on these walks are teaching him "life skills" but it's my favorite part of our time together. Mostly we are silent.

Today we spent a great deal of time just looking into this little stream. I wondered what he liked about it, what he was focusing on. I liked watching this one leaf. I saw it fall in the water and I watched it travel down. It sort of looped and spun at one point. I thought about how things in nature just exist with no awareness of their existence - or none that I know of and I felt sort of jealous. Of nature. The leaf wasn't sad that it was no longer "living" on a tree. It didn't feel scared, or tentative, or confused, or indifferent, or elated to be traveling down the stream. It just was. Or wasn't.

He kept throwing acorn shells into the water. I imagined that he was interested in the ripple effect. I like how that looks, too. He is a very visual child. Gets excited and flaps his arms when something appeals to him, visually. I love him.

I thought about all of those things as we looked into the stream. I wonder what he thought about, if he thought about anything at all. Maybe he's super Zen - or maybe he was having these ingenious ideas. He doesn't have language but one day it will all bubble to the surface in crazy and wonderful ways. I wouldn't be surprised. The ability to speak, write - verbalize in general means very little. I think he knows himself better than I could ever dream. Is it fucked up that I envy him?

Then, I seriously considered throwing my cell phone into the water. My hand felt "thirsty" to do it - alive with the sensation that it needed something that couldn't be quenched. I knew I wouldn't do it but I kept imagining it making a splash and then sinking to the bottom. The water would get murky and then it would settle and I'd regret it. I know he would like the splash though. I kept thinking that he'd get a kick out of it. I didn't do it but not doing it made me feel sort of guilty, or selfish, or petty.