Book brief summary
The Reason I Jump is structured into a Preface and 58 brief segments based on the author’s responses to inquiries concerning autism. These answers are interspersed with seven extra chapters of observations about autism or short stories, as well as the novella “I’m Right Here.” This guide has six analysis parts, the first five of which match to 13 chapters in the text and the final to “I’m Right Here.” In the Preface, Questions 1-11, and “The Mystery of the Missing Words,” Higashida explains why he authored this book. He did this to promote a better understanding of people with autism, who are frequently misunderstood due to communication difficulties. Higashida then investigates why certain persons with autism struggle to communicate. This is because they struggle to externalize their thoughts and feelings through words. Higashida relates these issues to a temporal “gap” that persons with autism have between thought and linguistic communication. Higashida delves into the relationship between autism and the body in Chapters 12–23 and “Slip Sliding Away.” This is referring to bodily control, sensation, and movement. In the narrative “Slip Sliding Away,” a hare and tortoise run, and the tortoise falls on his back, while the hare races away, only to find no one waiting at the finish line. The narrative is an analogy for the problems some persons with autism have in managing their bodies, as well as the isolation that can result from this. Higashida investigates why certain people with autism avoid physical touch, have restricted facial emotions, and struggle to imitate movement. He relates many of these issues to some autistic people’s estrangement from their bodies and lack of intuitive control over them.
Preface: Question 11 Analysis
Effective communication enables us to navigate our surroundings, obtain information, learn new skills, and seek assistance when we are lost or in pain. Furthermore, it allows us to live in a common universe of human significance. Sharing our thoughts and feelings with others allows us to connect with a shared sense of human identity and purpose. As a result, some persons with autism find it challenging to communicate with others. Higashida states: “I still can’t ‘do’ a real conversation […] as soon as I try to speak with someone, my words just vanish” (15).
Not all people with autism struggle with communication in the same way. Some persons with autism experience a shared sense of displacement and alienation because they struggle to talk well and express themselves. According to Higashida, “It’s like being a doll spending your whole life in isolation, without dreams and without hopes” (19). Not only that, but some persons with autism are more likely to be misunderstood than others. It is, rather, also the case that some feel dehumanized in the misinterpretation. Without the ability to properly express their emotions, some persons with autism may feel confined by the external notion that they lack the emotional depth of others. This sensation of isolation can be increased when others reject people with autism just because they have trouble communicating.
Higashida’s feelings raise the topic of why certain persons with autism experience this problem in the first place. It may be asked why or how autism affects communication. While Higashida recognizes that he does not have all of the answers, what he does offer is nonetheless insightful. He elaborates: “Non-autistic people can sort out what they want to say in real time, while they’re having their conversation” (33). In contrast, for him, and possibly other persons with autism, “there’s a gap between what [he’s] thinking and what [he’s] saying” (33). This shows that the main gap is in absorption. Most persons without autism are able to think and articulate their thoughts at the same time. When they are engaged in a discussion, their speech is influenced by the scenario in which they are immersed, responding naturally and unconsciously to their interlocutor and the surrounding context. Meanwhile, some people with autism may lack the ability to become “absorbed” or to comprehend and respond to a context. As a result, some persons with autism may be required to engage in a distinct reflective act in which they ponder the proper response and “fish out” one before articulating it (25).
The requirement to “think about” a response can impede communication because a good response is frequently unavailable. Higashida claims that in order to reply in the present, he must rely on previous “useable experience” and effective replies (26). However, due to the intricate and ever-changing subtleties of social settings, this may not always be viable. This can be problematic for certain people when it comes to emotions, because the very personal reactions required by the emotional parts of discussion imply that rule-following based on previous experiences rarely gives viable “answers” in such circumstances. Alternatively, when it happens, the answer given may appear mechanical or insensitive to others without autism.
At the same time, even when an approximately right response is discovered, some persons with autism may find the process difficult. According to Higashida, because they have to consider their comments, “it takes [them] ages to respond to what the other person has just said” (35). Conversations with and for persons with autism may be awkward, slow, or lack spontaneity in comparison to societal conventions and expectations of people without autism. It could imply that persons without autism are less inclined to interact with their peers who have autism. The potential social rejection that can occur can erode a kid with autism’s communication skills even further, leading to increased isolation. However, the prognosis isn’t entirely grim. Higashida highlights some of the communication difficulties that some persons with autism face, and he contributes to a better understanding of the thought process behind some of these concerns. By investigating why certain people with autism behave as they do, he contributes to breaking the hush around the diagnosis and demonstrates the importance of first-person accounts of autism. In this approach, he provides hope for universal understanding and helps persons with autism feel less isolated from common humanity.
Questions 12–23 Analysis
At first appearance, the narrative “Slip Sliding Away,” about a rematch between the hare and the tortoise from Aesop’s fables, appears to be a metaphor for the value of community above competitiveness. The hare insisted on a rematch with the tortoise despite the fact that “none of the other animals was at all interested” (58). Despite winning this time, he realizes that “nobody was waiting but himself” at the finish line (59). In contrast, the animals help and lead the tortoise home after he slips on his back. On one level, Higashida’s “sequel” to Aesop’s narrative is about recognizing and prioritizing the opinions of others over the egocentric desire for success. It also discusses the hollowness of “victory” when obtained against social norms of fair play—in this case, the hare accepting his first defeat. However, the story can also be read as an allegory for the nature of the autistic body. When read in light of the surrounding concerns and their emphasis on physical self-control, the story might be interpreted as a metaphor for the autistic body’s unique processing of accepted norms and situations. As such, the story serves as a metaphor for the discomfort and isolation that persons with autism may experience as a result of their bodies’ displacement.
The narrative emphasizes how the autistic body’s characteristics may not be solely concerned with physiology, but also with the person’s unique relationship to their body and the question of control. People with autism may not have the same experience as those without autism, who have an intuitive and non-reflective awareness of their bodies and naturally know how to adjust to their surroundings. According to Higashida, while describing why dancing and gym workouts are difficult, “[people with autism] don’t know [their] own body parts so well” (57). Furthermore, he claims that “[people with autism] never really feel like [their] bodies are [their] own” (68). As with speech, Higashida’s words imply that some people with autism are unable to get absorbed in, and intuitively attuned to, their bodies’ activities. Instead, as with speech, individuals may be required to view their body as an external tool to be actively and intentionally managed and moved.
This discrepancy is shown in Higashida’s explanation of why he struggles to follow directions. For a youngster without autism, a bodily direction such as “turn around and close the door” can be a simple directive. However, Higashida claims that in order to obey an instruction, he must go through a three-stage process. First, he says, “I think about what I’m going to do” (67). Then he continues, “I visualize how I’m going to do it,” followed by, “I encourage myself to get going” (67).
Of course, such a hard process of relating to the body might make it difficult to follow instructions and develop physical skills such as cooking or playing an instrument. The “gap” between purpose and body response can separate people with autism from their counterparts. Most people without autism relate to others primarily through their bodies’ instinctive responses to the other person and the environment. This can include subconscious knowledge about how we stand or sit, our facial expressions, how we laugh or smile, and how we maintain eye contact. If all these responses must be thought through and then consciously acted on, as is sometimes the case for a person with autism, expected communication can become almost impossible. Even if the person with autism understands how they should act, the breadth and intricacy of reactions may be too enormous to consciously execute. As a result, some people with autism may stand out simply because of their physical characteristics. Thus, as Higashida suggests, it is critical that people “please keep helping [people with autism]” rather than simply condemning their behaviors (69). It is important to recognize that some persons with autism confront obstacles that others will never have to face. Higashida demonstrates this by questioning the concepts of “normality” and “abnormality” in regard to a person with autism’s bodily autonomy.
Questions 24–35 Analysis
When asked if he would want to live a “normal” life without autism, Higashida responds that “for ages and ages [he] badly wanted to be normal” (72). Higashida continues to investigate Challenging Conceptions of “Normality” and “Abnormality” as he struggles with his knowledge of what society considers “normal” in comparison to his actual experience. While difficulties communicating and engaging with others can cause anxiety and social isolation, less obvious issues can complicate life for persons with autism in various ways.
Controlling or suppressing thoughts of sadness or imminent disaster is frequent among some people with autism. Higashida, for example, recounts how certain sounds make it feel “as if the ground is shaking and the landscape around [people with autism] starts coming to get [them]” (81). He must cup his ears to try to drown out such sounds. Some persons with autism may feel compelled to undertake a variety of repetitive acts in order to avoid experiencing identical feelings in response to triggering images, situations, or memories. Higashida states, “[I]f we don’t do these actions, we’ll go to pieces completely” (85-86). These habits associated with attire, food, and routines may make people with autism appear “strange” or odd in the view of others without autism. The actions may also impair an autistic person’s capacity to participate in social activities, particularly if they are spontaneous or unplanned.
In addition to these hurdles, Higashida mentions other issues that some people with autism may encounter on a regular basis. He discusses how some persons with autism may struggle to go asleep at a socially acceptable hour. The vagueness of time and the impossibility of regulating its passing, as Higashida puts it, “never stops being a big, big worry”(97). Despite these problems, Higashida states that he would now “choose to stay as [he is]” (72). Higashida has realized that persons with autism have distinct personalities and perspectives on the world. He claims that a person without autism automatically ignores the specifics of every circumstance in order to focus on the big picture. Higashida, on the other hand, believes that for people with autism, “the detail that claims [their] attention” (92). Without this implicit focussing of “normal” vision to make space for practical engagement, a person with autism can “drown” in the individual hues and shapes of objects and view each thing as having “its own unique beauty” (92). Higashida refuses to give up this beauty, which came at the cost of estrangement from normal life. Higashida realizes that the diagnosis of autism, its challenges, and its beauty are intrinsically linked to who he is. His response to the hypothetical question about normality is less important than the revelation that the question forces him to confront: that if he wants to be happy, he must learn to appreciate his autism, despite all of its problems, rather than yearning to be someone he is not. Higashida’s revelation expands on the text’s theme of the importance of first-person accounts of autism.
“Never-Ending Summer”: Question 47 Analysis
People without autism may be tempted to interpret many autistic actions and preferences as a negative desire to control or avoid something. For example, Higashida describes how he gets a “real kick out of numbers” and timetables with numbers since they are “always, always the same” (113). The number 1 is always the same, and the 6:30 train is always at 6:30. According to him, this contrasts sharply with “invisible things like human relationships and ambiguous expressions” (113). Human interactions and facial expressions or remarks, unlike statistics, frequently have ambiguous or unknown meanings that change and evolve over time. For example, the exact status of a friendship is difficult to describe because it varies over time and in response to several settings, such as who else is present or the other person’s mood. As such, some autistic people’s interest in numbers can be interpreted as a counterweight to this ambiguity. A concern for order can be understood as a desire to alleviate the worries that arise from an uncertain or confusing environment.
For some people with autism, physical sensory experiences might help them process their anxieties and emotions. According to Higashida, spinning around an object allows him to exert control over it since the thing rotates “with perfect regularity” in relation to his own actions (101). Meanwhile, being in the water offers an escape from both other humans and what he refers to as “the normal flow of time” (105). According to Higashida, time causes worry for certain persons with autism because it cannot be repaired and its passage changes everything. Being in the water gives Higashida a little relief from the consciousness of this invisible, yet all-pervading, entropic force, as well as his first-hand account of autism.
While a desire to avoid uncertainty may be one of the reasons why some persons with autism engage in particular behaviors, Higashida believes there is also a positive joy associated with the behaviors. For example, he claims that putting up toys or completing jigsaw puzzles makes “[people with autism’s] brains feel refreshed and clear” (103). Similarly, he claims that “just watching spinning things fills [them] with a sort of everlasting bliss” (101). Clearly, the pleasure that some persons with autism may derive from such activities is more than just a negative satisfaction at the reduction of anxiety. Rather, this relaxation is associated with a positive enjoyment of something lovely embedded inside the awareness of order. This idea of the sublimity of order is exemplified by Higashida’s story about the girl who dances for seven days straight. The character, who is “in a state of sheer bliss,” thinks on “how sublime it is to dance” (111). For her, the repeating of the identical movements results in a greater sensation of excitement caused by the further instilling of ordered and regulated movement in her universe. Higashida utilizes the girl to construct a complicated image that explains how repetition can comfort certain persons with autism, as well as to demonstrate his use of writing and allegory as means of exploration.
Furthermore, some persons with autism have a deep appreciation for nature, which heightens their sense of sublimity. Higashida states: “[W]hen we look at nature, we receive a sort of permission to be alive in this world […] However often we’re ignored and pushed away by other people” (120). Higashida finds solace in nature after experiencing the volatility and disappointments of human interactions. Nature, unlike humans, provides a soothing realm of senses and acceptance. Furthermore, nature conveys a sense of unification or oneness. Higashida claims that when he looks at nature, he feels “as if [he’s] being swallowed up into it” and that his body is “a speck that is melting into nature herself” (123-24). In this approach, the delight that some people with autism experience when they are in nature stems from a need to escape something. This escape from the world, and the delight it brings, is also the experience of becoming a part of an order and beauty greater than oneself, a relief and a revelation of something beautiful.
“The Great Statue of Buddha” – Question 58 Analysis
One of the most worrying characteristics of some people with autism is their proclivity to, as Higashida puts it, “go running off” (127). This generates practical concerns about their safety and whereabouts, as well as frustration in their caregivers, who believe they must be continually monitored. There is also a deeper concern about why some persons with autism run away in the first place. Friends or caregivers who do not have autism may worry, given communication difficulties, if a person with autism is attempting to flee from them. On one level, Higashida’s responses to these queries help to alleviate such specific concerns. As he put it, “My brain is always sending me off on little missions, whether or not I want to do them” (136). He denies that he is intentionally or actively aiming to flee. Rather, he claims he is driven to flee by an inner urge. While such a drive is illogical, it is not an attempt to flee any specific person; Higashida explains that it may be related to a person with autism’s emotions and mentality. He elaborates: “[P]eople with autism never, ever feel at ease, wherever we are” (129). They feel permanently estranged from their surroundings, he believes, and consequently strive to depart when this feeling becomes overwhelming. The power of this emotion is expressed in Higashida’s statement about walking away from home. He states, “[I]f I didn’t go outside, then I would cease to exist” (133). Similarly, he recounts how “when [he’s] not moving, it feels as if [his] soul is detaching itself from [his] body” (145). Some persons with autism may feel so disconnected from themselves and their surroundings that they believe their own existence and soul depend on getting away. Higashida remarks, “I’m always wanting to be somewhere else,” but “I can’t find my way there” (145).
Higashida’s feelings are similar to the feeling that philosopher Soren Kierkegaard referred to as “angst.” Unlike dread, angst is a lingering sensation of one’s separation from oneself and the world, rather than a specific cause of worry or concern. As with Higashida’s portrayal of discomfort, we are constantly fleeing this anguish with little chance that “we’ll ever be able to reach our Shangri-La” free of it (130).
Some autistic people’s experiences reveal an alienated sense of rootlessness, of never truly feeling at home. Paradoxically, it is by emphasizing this emotion that some persons with autism may describe their experiences to those who do not have autism. This is one interpretation of Higashida’s fable about the crow and dove. The dove, which represents people without autism, has “been searching for the path to happiness for a long, long time” but “still can’t find it anywhere” and is depressed (142). Only when the crow, who represents persons with autism, shows that all pathways are the same in their lack of a clear end can the dove find calm. In other words, the crow demonstrates to the dove that it can find respite without actively seeking it. It is only by relinquishing the dream of a final anxiety-free condition and accepting the inevitability of perpetual flight that it will be able to find consolation and acceptance of itself. This supplemental tale connects the book to the following set of questions and displays Higashida’s awareness of life for people with and without autism. As a result, the narrative of the crow and the dove adds to the idea of writing and allegory as means of exploring autism.
