Distinctive

By Adam Muri-Rosenthal, Ph.D.

This one’s personal for me. While I’ve never hidden my own neurodiversity, I’ve also never before addressed it in a public forum like this one. But part of my neurodiversity has been a guileless—at times appreciated by some as honest and direct, at others derided as naive—willingness to open up to others, the consequences be damned. This post falls squarely (and unapologetically) into that category.

I remember, for example, when I began my graduate school career at Harvard, being asked for a bio to post on a bulletin board with my photo alongside those of the other graduate students. When I received the edited version back from Frannie, the department administrator, all mention of my haplessly disclosed attention deficit disorder had been removed. She had done it, I later realized, to protect me from a culture in which—as a close friend and colleague once put it—“everyone is constantly taking the measure of everyone else” (a culture which, in retrospect, was not a great fit for me). In spite of the risk of divulging a particular others might perceive as weakness, it had never occurred to me to conceal such a quintessential part of who I am.

At the end of the day, my neurodiversity is what makes me me. Have I suffered from a crippling inability to sit still and do three math problems in a row or string together a couple of words? Yes, though thankfully, over time I’ve come to love math and, as you can no doubt discern, words delight me to no end! Was I bullied throughout grade school because I struggled to stay on task and was too slow to pick up on the social valances to respond? Also yes.

And it’s exactly this hapless, guileless, naive willingness to plunge into the unmeasured (and sometimes simply disregarded) depths of social nuance that has also given me one of the greatest gifts of my neurodiversity: perspective. 

Perspective is just one of the many advantages of a neurodiverse mind. Each of these advantages merits lengthy consideration and a future post. Though neurodiversity has been historically persecuted as a disability, its reputation is wholly undeserved and the beauty of its difference grievously and repeatedly misunderstood. Sadly, the world has no shortage of excessively vocal narrow minds. Because as I addressed in this post, there are two sides to every coin, and perceiving our ostensible weaknesses for the strengths they proffer is just a matter of…well… perspective.

To give you a sense of what I mean about perspective, allow me to share an anecdote from college. It’s a bit of a cognitive journey. If you identify as neurodiverse as I do, I’m betting you’re also willing to come along for the ride. If, on the other hand, you identify as neurotypical and this seems like an extravagant diversion… it is, but indulge me.

Because I spent the entirety of my formal academic career studying Italian, it often surprises people to learn that the most memorable course I took in college was a Physics course: Relativity, taught by the brilliant, inimitable Professor Morton Tavel. Prof. Tavel made it his mission to do something that every great educator ought to but that only the greatest do: making their subject, no matter how inscrutable, both accessible and so devastatingly engaging that you cling to their every word.

I will never forget the lesson in which Prof. Tavel explained the human mind’s hopeless inadequacy when it comes to grasping the existence of the fourth dimension (time, according to Einstein). In one hand, Prof. Tavel held a sheet of standard white paper and in the other, a pencil. Imagine—he said—that you are a two-dimensional being living inside that gossamer two-dimensional universe, going about your two-dimensional life with two-dimensional self-assurance, convention, and predictability. He paused, smiled mischievously, and with dramatic flourish, stabbed the pencil through the page. Now—he said, projecting even more loudly—imagine your two-dimensional world suddenly pierced by this object traversing it in a third dimension. What would you, a two-dimensional being, see—he asked—and we answered him: a two-dimensional obstacle. You don’t look up and you don’t look down—because for you, there is no up or down—only left and right, width and length, the two dimensions of your universe. Yes!—he explained—and that is how difficult it is for the three-dimensional human mind to grasp quadri-dimensionality. As the reasonably intelligent but cosmically primitive inhabitants of a three-dimensional world, it is all but impossible.

That idea has stuck with me for over 25 years now, because to this day I remain awed not merely by the physics, but also by the wisdom of the metaphor. To dare disturb the universe, as Eliot so musically phrased it (or to alter the curvature of space-time, as Einstein and Prof. Tavel might prefer), we must all strive to stare off into a dimension the mere existence of which most minds are ill-prepared to understand, and presume not only to discern it, but also to traverse its mysteries with both childlike wonder and the proverbial conviction of one who owns the place.

Neurodiverse thinkers are gifted with each of those qualities: boldness, childlike wonder, and conviction. We are unfettered by the typical constraints of social mores; endowed with a magnificent lack of inhibition to transcend into peculiarity, eccentricity, and artistry. This perspective, in turn, allows us to hop the fence of tacit accord so audaciously that we find ourselves stumbling upon other dimensions.

Just look at Einstein.

Now, you may be wondering what any of this has to do with college admissions. A lot, actually! One of the most challenging aspects of the application process—in fact, possibly the single most elusive of all—is setting yourself apart from the crowd. If you are lucky (yes, lucky!) enough to have the remarkable perspective that neurodiversity affords, use it to your advantage by following it where it leads you—in terms of ideas, activities, passion projects, and so on—no matter how unusual or niche. In fact, the more unusual and niche, the better, and the more readily your application will be noticed by admissions officers. If you identify as neurotypical, though, and exploring the road less traveled leaves you with a feeling of displacement or even dread, take it from this neurodiverse writer: be daring, because admissions favors the bold.

NOTE: I wish to add here that it is not my intention to draw anyone unwillingly into my own conception of neurodiversity. There are many so-called diagnoses that can be lumped into this category. Many of them have overlapping characteristics. Some may identify more with one than another, and may not wish to be lumped at all. For my part, I like to think of us all as allies, if not sisters and brothers, but I fully respect each individual’s right to identify as they see fit.