Learning to merge
A reflection on neurodivergent behavior from The Loose Cannon
A couple weeks ago, I was talking with a colleague (he’s also one of my coaches) about something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember: social conversation.
When I have a role to play—director, teacher, storycoach, podcast host—I know exactly who I am and how to show up. Roles provide structure. Structures provide clarity. I know what to say, how to say it, when to say it.
But in unstructured, purely social situations? Not so much.
I listen closely. I think I have ideas and anecdotes and things to contribute. But I hesitate. Chronically. I wait for the “right” moment, or I wait to be invited in. I freeze at the thought of interrupting.
And before you know it, the opening I was watching for zips past—like traffic on a busy highway—while I sit in the merge lane with my blinker on, craning my head around, watching for gaps, foot flexed on the brake but never quite brave enough to hit the gas.
As the conversation rolls on, my attention drifts from listening to loneliness, from connection to invisibility.
Sometime I try to short circuit the pattern by tapping into my ever-restless curiosity and asking detailed questions. The gravity of reciprocity usually brings a friendly query back my way. But even then, interruptions are commonplace, almost expected. While I sit paralyzed at the thought of interrupting someone else, as soon as I pause to breathe or fine tune my thought, someone else sees the gap and zips right in. Merge!
And I shut down. I tell myself my thought can wait. But by then the re-entry point is a mile down the road and I’m still sitting with my blinker on.
My collegial coach—whose mind, like mine, is neurodivergent—assured me I am not alone in this feeling of aloneness. Neurotypical minds, he let me know, understand instinctively how to “drive” during social conversations. They don’t have to think about it. Conversation, for them, is play: switching lanes, testing ideas, weaving in and out with ease, not bogged down by the need to say something “right” the first time.
Understand… this isn’t a complaint. I’m not angry, and I don’t think socially fluent people are rude.
If anything, I’m a bit jealous, because I’m simply not wired that way. Driving is work. It takes effort. And it can be oddly draining, especially when those around me seem to gain energy from the very same road.
I don’t want to give up driving.
I just want to merge.