A Long Surrender
The King Knows How by Over the Rhine from The Long Surrender
Surrender and surrendering have been fairly consistent themes since I started seeing a new therapist a couple years ago. I had decided to stop seeing my first therapist who was very helpful at times, but our time together ran its course. It was, frankly, incredibly exhausting to confront alcoholic and addiction tendencies every two weeks. I had made it clear I wasn’t interested in 12-step programs or groups and finally I said I didn’t think we were moving forward. She understood and of course handled it professionally.
I went without for a while and decided I really should see someone new. I asked a friend for a recommendation and got one - highly recommended as the best - at a place called Affirmations. Seeing as how I like affirmations and tend to seek them out even when they aren’t particularly warranted, I sent an email around the start of a new year. The therapist replied and we were on our way.
It was through seeing him that I came to discover I’m what’s called “neurodivergent”. Basically that means my brain doesn’t work the way a “neurotypical” brain works, I don’t take in information or learning the same way most people do, I don’t process things the same way, and I’m oriented differently to energy, time, space, motivation, and more. At least, that’s how I understand it. And I understand that the world was not build for the neurodiverse, which makes navigating the environment all that much more challenging.
He is incredibly perceptive and in a very short time I felt like he knew me. Like, he really saw me and understood me. Sometimes he was exceptionally uncanny in the way he was able to articulate what I couldn’t or wouldn’t. I only have two minor frustrations when we meet - the first is that I sometimes crave practical techniques and solutions, and the second is that I’ve not really been able to nail him down on a label for what exact kind of neurodivergent I am.
Our conversations tend to be philosophical and sometimes borderline esoteric. We talk about energy and creating space, purging scattered-ness, neurons and motivation, brain science, the history of psychology, shame, disgust, masking (put a pin in that one), and more things like those. These concepts are helping me understand more about how I walk around in this world.
But sometimes I just want the answer. Don’t you just want the answer sometimes, too? Like, I don’t want to study for the test, I don’t want to do the homework, I don’t even want to take the test. Just tell me the answer so I can get on with it. In this specific situation with that specific person, what should I do and how should I handle it and what’s the answer?
“Well, it doesn’t quite work that way,” he tells me, “and until you come to understand and accept yourself and how you interact with the environment, you won’t be addressing the core of what really needs to be addressed.”
Alright. Fair enough. But I still don’t want to do the homework. Can you at least give me the answer key so I can check my own work? That would be great, thanks.
The other thing is that I’m curious about my official diagnosis. I’ve come to strongly suspect that I’m somewhere on the Autism spectrum. I believe this so much that I told my parents and brother about it. I’m not sure it quite registered when I did - the concept of neurodiversity didn’t seem to really land when I was trying to explain it.
But right now, my self-diagnosis is just based on lots of “How To Tell If You’re Autistic” videos on YouTube by people with Autism who were also diagnosed later in life. And also from talking to a couple other neurodivergent people and discovering many coincidences and similarities. One of those people worked with me for a little while at my new job. She mentioned casually in a team meeting about being neurodivergent and it was a revelatory moment for me - a reminder and affirmation that neurodiversity isn’t something to be ashamed of or hidden away, but rather embraced. I felt a similar response when I met an out atheist for the first time.
But this girl (well, lady, she’s my age, but I call everyone girl so hey), she and I were on the same plane in a way I hadn’t known probably since being a freshman in college. (So what’s that, like…three years ago because I’m 21 now? Hahaha, just kidding. Internalized ageism isn’t funny and I’m 45.) To give you an example, we were chatting on Teams, the instant messaging platform at work. She said something about her plans for the weekend or something - it seemed like a lot of things to handle, a lot of dragons to slay - so I chatted, “What are you, She-Ra Princess of Power or something?” She went quiet for a minute then chatted back, “I call my bag She-Ra” and sent me a photo of her bag with a She-Ra badge on it. This happened three or four times while we worked together. It was awesome and a little bit unnerving. I miss seeing her; she moved on to another agency about three months after I got hired. Knowing she had Autism and was able to share that made it a lot easier for me to have conversations with my boss about some of what I think I may need to be successful.
So am I Autistic? My therapist believes that the precise label doesn’t particularly matter because all neurodivergent brains kind of live in the same neighborhood and process move through space and time the same kind of way.
Alright. Fair enough. But could you tell me exactly what that means for exactly me and exactly who I am, and also just tell me the exact label that I and other people would use to describe whatever this is. That would be great, thanks.
There are a lot of boxes getting ticked the more I learn about Autism. And things from my past - from childhood to last week - make so much more sense. I thought there were things that were wrong with me that I’m finally seeing weren’t wrong or even abnormal, just different, because my brain is different. So that’s why I ran late to school and work and everywhere all the time always? “Time blindness” is actually a thing? I wasn’t just rude and uncaring and selfish like all those books and people and teachers and bosses and parents said? I’m just wired differently?! Turns out, yeah. Also, my obsessive multiple daily viewings of The Wizard of Oz as a child kind of make more sense now. The fact that I basically only watch two or three television shows over and over and over today kind of makes more sense now. That when I listen to music I really like, I’ll listen to it until digital rot sets in, that kinda makes sense now, too.
But one thing has really thrown me for a loop and has caused me to question almost everything else. There’s this concept of “masking” - and the idea is that, subconsciously, we learn what behaviors are “acceptable” in society and which ones aren’t, and so we mask our natural tendencies and behaviors with the ones we’ve learned we’re “supposed” to use. Kind of like being a homosexual fellow in the closet, espousing a love for the sensuality of women while only craving the bold touch of a man. You know, like Tom Cruise.
But the thing is, I’ve been masking so long that I never even knew I’d been doing it. And that’s what’s fucking me up. If I’ve never really been myself, then how the hell am I supposed to know who I am? I mean, it makes sense. For example, I did love singing with the chorus. But I don’t miss it. It took effort to be around everyone. To be in a good mood wearing a good smile for the good people for the entire rehearsal, and the performances. And when I really examine what I used to do to have fun, it always involved at least alcohol, which I think allowed masking to be easier for me, so I at least felt like I was having fun. And I’m sure to a certain point I was, but how much of me have I been and how much of me has just been a mask?
It’s set me on a journey of doubt and questioning and lazy self exploration. And my therapist insists (and I believe him) that it’ll be in surrendering that I’ll find the answers. Surrendering to myself, accepting who I am and believing it, surrendering to how I interact with the environment around me, all of it will, supposedly, come in time and with practice.
Alright. Fair enough. But can you tell me exactly how to do that, please? That would be great, thanks.
Bonus Content
This is one of very few reviews I’ve ever written and posted to Amazon. It’s about Over the Rhine’s album, The Long Surrender, which remains my favorite and is, in my opinion, their best work. Thought you might like to read it.
5.0 out of 5 stars Their Best Album
Reviewed in the United States on January 5, 2018
I grew up in Cincinnati, and a friend introduced me to Over the Rhine when I was in high school in the mid-90s. They’ve been my favorite band since then, and I’m a fan of most of their music. I believe this album to be their best, and I kick myself three or four times a year for not helping to crowdfund it. On its own, it’s a gorgeous record. Their lyrics and songwriting have never been stronger. The production by Joe Henry is, of course, just as essential as the music itself. If you’ve never heard Over the Rhine before, you’ll certainly appreciate the very true, authentic talent you’ll hear. But if you take a deeper, more deliberate listen, you might discover a few more layers that will make your experience even more profound.
When I listen to The Long Surrender, I hear a concept album rich with metaphor and deep meaning - I hear a civil war, complete with an antebellum period and a reconstruction. From the first few chords you’ll know you’re hearing an ending starting to begin - a war brewing within us and around us. Percussion throughout the first half of the album evokes many images: a dusty southern veranda being swept by a broomcorn broom, a field march calling soldiers to serve, a grown up baptism, a slow, seductive, southern flamenco, and cannon fire.
Lyrics like, “The blood is sweet, the veil is thin, let your wreckage cleanse my skin” are some of the best they’ve written - delicious poetry, every word. “Undamned,” a perfect duet with Lucinda Williams, begs us, “Don’t count me out just yet.” You won’t, don’t worry. “Infamous Love Song” ends in a deep growl signaling the last breath of war. The turning point - the beginning of reconstruction - starts with “Only God Can Save Us Now.” In this song, the percussion changes from a call to arms or a battle into a swinging, knocking pendulum in an old and towering grandfather clock. The song, which features a gospel choir, is about Berquist’s mother who lives in a nursing home, and the people bound there with her. The gospel choir returns for “The King Knows How” - a rollicking train ride on a long train track that’s still being nailed down. Here, you’re on a trip to Memphis (or maybe heaven) to visit with Elvis (or maybe Jesus).
“All My Favorite People,” is a living room parade celebrating our most beautiful imperfections, like a New Year’s Eve party just past midnight. If my civil war is life analogy is to be believed, it’s also delightfully ironic for a song celebrating the broken to appear during a time of reconstruction. But really, what else is there to celebrate by that point? “Unspoken,” the album’s only instrumental track, leaves us with a sense of perpetuity and continuity. We’ve been here before, and we’ll be here again.
The Long Surrender is what it says it is. When you listen to it, you’ll think about how we’ve surrendered to ourselves and to each other. How we’ve surrendered to life as it is or can be, and also to death - our own or someone else’s. You’ll think about how we can surrender to both our enemies and to our allies. It’s through all this surrendering that we learn why we are who we are.
That’s what this album means to me. And, that’s why this album is essential to me. I hope you listen to it, and I hope you find it as enjoyable as I have.