"But when I would dance, all those names - they would slip away." (Raquel "Rocky" Oprah Blue)

"When I was growing up, I went through this really insane growth spurt.  And everyone made fun of me and called me names like 'Giraffe' and 'Tree' - and, just in case you are wondering, yes, the weather is fine up here.  I mean, everyone made me feel so awkward.  But when I would dance, all those names- ... they would slip away.  I wasn't awkward. I was- ... I was me!  And I was graceful, and ... I felt alive."

- Rocky Blue

So - ... I've been thinking today about the nature of friendship, and I've decided something.

It's confession time.

I'm terrible at dancing.

I know.  I know.  You're shocked.

But it's true.

And it's also true that I'm terrible at a lot of things.  A lot of things.

It's true, though.  You see, I'm autistic - as regular readers of my blog know.  

Now, I don't mean to bore people as I repeat facts like that so endlessly in these pieces, but I also try to bear in mind that any readers I might have may be discovering these stories at any given point.  So, this piece could be someone's first time reading about me.  And I feel like I should fill in some of the blanks for new readers when the subject is relevant to what I'm writing a given blog entry.

So, for those who've read everything so far - and you know who you are - I ask for your patience as I bring new readers up to speed like this.

So, yeah, I'm autistic. I struggle with a lot of things that other people take for granted; things like making light conversation, understanding when someone is making a joke and making eye-contact in social situations.  And I'm also clumsy.  I don't understand fashion.  I don't understand non-verbal cues.  I'm bad at routine tasks like tying my shoes and remembering to shut off lights when I exit a room. 

None of these things come easy for me.  And, sometimes, this makes me feel a little bit less-than-stellar.  

And sometimes, it makes me feel like a complete loser.

But, Dee, some of my readers might say - aren't you always talking about being strong and brave and courageous and confident here on your blog?  Aren't these positive traits pretty much your focus in the majority of the articles you write?    

And the majority of my answer can be summed up like this:  "Yep."  But there's also second part to that answer, which is that just because I believe in having a positive outlook doesn't mean I always have one, all the time, in every situation - because I don't.  Sometimes, I succumb to negative thoughts about myself.  Sometimes, I feel like a failure.  Sometimes, I feel stupid and ugly and gross.  

Sometimes, I even feel like ignoring everything and retreating into my own thoughts while life happens all around me.

And while I recognize that my autism makes it more likely - in my case, at least - that I might have to struggle with these issues on any given day, I also refuse to blame my autism for my failures.  I don't give myself the luxury of that kind of thinking, for good or ill.

And so, as a result, I tend to put the blame on some kind of deep, personal failing on my part - some kind of overarching view of myself as a failure.  So - in short - I often am literally my worst critic.  And, it hurts.  

And it's at those times when I most want someone in my life upon whom I can rely on an emotional level, the way some people rely on their biological families for comfort when times get their toughest.

But, for some people - including myself - those kinds of connections aren't a part of their lives.  

Because some of us found ourselves dealing with issues that kept us distant from our biological families in all kinds of different ways.

But the result is so often the same, in that those of who survive this isolation have no choice but to learn to get along without the benefits of this kind of comfort.  And so we toughen ourselves to the world around us, even if it's not necessarily a reflection of who we are deep down inside.

I certainly did that in my own life, out of an ugly frustration with how other people treated me and how I saw myself as weak and vulnerable.  

I even took to wearing combat boots, a spiked leather jacket with a spiked leather belt, olive drab camouflage pants.  

It wasn't really who I am, but that's how I dressed.

And a teacher noticed my new look when I debuted it at the start of my junior year at Beaverton High School in 1988.  I was 16 years old.  "Dennis -" said the professor, a worried look on his face.  "You look like you're going to kick some shit.  Or get the shit kicked out of you.  What brought about the change?"

My answer came to mind quickly and painfully.  "I just got tired of people attacking me."  

And it was just that simple.  Because I was just that tired.  And I had figured that affecting a presence that would depict me in a constant state of aggressive readiness would deter people from those attacks against me.

And you know what?  It totally worked.

Everyone left me alone that year.  I was free to do what I wanted, when I wanted, where I wanted.  I wasn't teased by my fellow students.  I wasn't mocked.  I wasn't beaten.  I wasn't assaulted.  

Because everyone was afraid of me.  Or, rather, they were afraid of the "me" that I presented to the world.

And it was in this year that I learned a lot about human nature in terms of how much attention people often pay toward each other.  And, actually, that's not quite accurate to say - because what I really learned was how little people often pay attention to each other.

And how much of it relies on what's visible on the surface - style, performance, presentation, choreography.

Dance.

But - as I said - I'm terrible at dancing.

And, so, too, I'm terrible at the dance of social interaction.

So I couldn't keep up the facade, even though it was a powerful shield against bullies and aggressors.  I couldn't keep up the pace of that particular dance, couldn't maintain myself with the gruelling toll it took on my body and mind, the trauma that often left me feeling so desperate and haunted and broken ... and lonely, even when I wasn't alone.

I stayed that way through most of high school.  I kept my head down, kept my face buried in books.

I didn't smile.  I didn't acknowledge other people.

I just went about my business, kept my mind on the tasks at hand.

And I stayed that way until I got to college - when I reached a critical point; I couldn't stand what I had pretended for two years to become, but I felt powerless to fix it.  I felt, as I said, like a loser, and worked hard to keep everyone away from me even as I deprecated myself at every turn, cruelly and self-dismissively to the point of mental self-abuse.

But I didn't do it on my own.  I had to be rescued.  And I was.

And, more important than the mere fact that I was rescued has to do with HOW I was rescued.

I was rescued because someone else decided to care about me - and to even hold me in regard and esteem.

And I mean the real me, because this person was perceptive enough to see who I was inside and out.

And who absolutely, positively refused to tolerate me when I put myself down in any way.  And this was very new - and very strange to me.  This was an alien notion, that I would be invited into someone else's dance.

But this person was willing to fight for me, for reasons I still don't completely understand to this day and have no desire to demand from that person. And this person fought for me, and against me as I mentally assaulted myself over and over in the weird paradox of desperately wanting a friend but having been convinced I didn't deserve one.  But she persevered, this person.

And she became my friend.

And I became hers, despite all my best efforts to drive her away from me, my attempts to frustrate her efforts toward that friendship.  And make no mistake - she got frustrated with me.  ALL the time.

But she stayed true to me.

And it was then that I realized something else about people, and life, and that social dance.

When it comes to real friends, there's no such thing as being terrible at dancing ... because your friends appreciate what elements you bring to the dance, and what you bring to your friends' lives - even if it's not exactly what could be called "conventional" - and even if, sometimes, what you bring really has nothing to do with dancing.

And, at the time, I found this to be a beautiful and comforting realization - one that has helped me keep my wits in times of despair, and one that has helped me so much in those times I mentioned earlier in this piece when I'm feeling down about myself and my own abilities.

But as I think about these kinds of friendships, and what they mean to me in my own life and when iI see them reflected in the world around me ... I find myself also, sadly, recognizing that those kinds of relationships can be more rare than we might like, or admit.

And that line of thought is what has led to to write today about a character I greatly admire named Rocky Blue.

For the uninitiated, Rocky is one of the two main characters on the Disney Channel television show, Shake it Up.  The series ran for 75 episodes over three seasons from November 7, 2010 to November 10, 2013.

And I loved every minute of the show, and - in particular - how awesome Rocky Blue is in every single episode.

Because Rocky Blue is basically who I strive to be when it comes to being a friend to other people while also being true to myself.

On the surface, I know that Rocky and I have had very different lives.  She is the daughter of a father who is a doctor and a mother who is the owner of a pair of salons.  She is also very tall, is a vegetarian and is at the top of her class in grades at school.  She believes in the existence of a god.

She is also an amazing dancer, even though she doubts that she is when the show begins.

And I understand her doubt, even though we - the audience at home - can see that she's meant to be a dancer.

But, over the course of the series, we see her doubts and fears slowly ebb.  We see her confidence rise, to the point that by the end of the series she's quite possibly the most confident character in the entire cast.

And, as I followed along in her adventures with her best friend Cece Jones, I realized very quickly that Rocky was the kind of person I've always wanted to be.

Which isn't to say that she's perfect, despite how often I ascribe the need for perfection to myself.

She can be incredibly stubborn - like I can.  She can be a little elitist about her intelligence - like I can.  She can be demanding of her friends - like I can.  She makes a lot of mistakes in social circules - and, wow, do I ever do that.

But it's not the mere existence of Rocky's human flaws and mistakes that make me admire her and want to be like her.

It's how she handles herself despite those flaws.  That's what inspires me.

She brushes off those criticisms.

She rises above them.

And she stays true to her convictions and her individual style, even at great cost - and even when people denigrate her for being who she really is, in whatever form that may take and even when it might seem to deviate from popular style.

And it's not that she doesn't care what anyone thinks or says.

It's that she's got better things to do than truly worry about such things.

Like being true to herself and to her friends - and, sometimes, even her frenemies.

You see, the key theme of Shake it Up - and, yes, I think even kids' shows like this have central themes, sometimes more than so-called "mature" programs - is being true to one's friends, and seeing through the differences that divide people across cultural and social lines.

It's an understated theme, yes - but it's very much at the heart of and in the backbone of every episode of the show.

And, most of all, it permeates the relationship between Rocky and Cece.

Now, I must admit I have a lot more in common with Cece than with Rocky.  

Cece is a goofball, who isn't terribly interested in studying ... despite her intelligence.  She's smarter than she'd ever admit or that people see on the surface.  

But Cece isn't the character I most admire or want to emulate in the way I view myself and other people, in terms of how I shape my friendships, even though I more often than not come to the realization that I'm being a total Cece more often than I'd like.

But real-life isn't quite as simple as a Facebook quiz about "Which character from Shake it Up are you?" 

So, while the simplest way to put it is that "I'm a Cece" who wants to "be a Rocky," I recognize that I have both characters' traits inside of me.

The question of who I really am, then, and who I want to be ... in the real world ... is which traits I execute as best practices.

Now, Cece and Rocky don't always get along - and I experience that conflict in my own life.  

I fight with myself all the time.  And I know a lot of other people do.  But what I observe is that it is my Cece side that wants to run away and hide and curl up in a ball, rejecting other people and putting myself down and hearing only the echoes of negative words inside my head.

But, here's the thing - it's my Rocky side that helps me to love my Cece side.

I am particularly reminded of the episode "Add It Up," where Cece gets "outed" as being dyslexic.  She has hidden this trait from everyone, in much the way I used to hide my transgender status and my autism from other people.  

That episode resonated with me in so many ways, because Cece - in the moment when she was confronted by the world realizing something about her that she had tried to hide - retreats even before anyone gets a chance to tell them how they feel about this "revelation."  

The short answer is: her real friends don't care, and only see her as the amazing girl she is - because, make no mistake, Cece is amazing in her own ways.  But Cece represents, to me, so much of my own self-doubt and fear, so much of my feigned bravado that surges forth when I try to keep myself from admitting my doubts, so much of the flash and sizzle of my most confident moments that also can sometimes act as too much of a shield from my own vulnerability - even from myself.

But while Cece reminds me of my my big, loud moments ... it's Rocky that represents who and what I want to be in that situation.  Because it's Rocky who is the most filled up with love in the entire show, and who truly loves herself most of all.

When Rocky is plagued with doubt, she turns to that love of herself to see her through by reminding her of her own worth.  When she's facing a crisis, she reminds herself of who she is and what she can do in order to get through those bad times.  When she's counseling a friend, she helps that person see the need to push as hard as possible toward self-confidence as the only way out of the downward spiral of self-loathing.  

But that isn't even meant to say that Rocky's an expert in love, herself.

Rocky can be shy, and can be prone to panic.  Like Cece, she can too quick to judge a situation ... the key difference between the two characters there being that Rocky most often errs on the side of caution rather than taking foolish risks.

But when Rocky does take risks, she commits to those risks in a way that I find admirable.  She TAKES the risks.  She MAKES the leap.  

And she's willing to stand up and dance, even when those risks might seem unusual to others.  And even though she knows she might risk ridicule, she goes through with her promises and commitments, and always shines when she does, often turning what could seem like awkward situations into big opportunities for success.

These are traits I need to learn in my own life, and they're embodied by Rocky so perfectly that I find myself inspired by her in every episode of the show, no matter how many times I see those same 75 episodes repeated.

As expertly embodied by the stunningly-talented performer Zendaya, Rocky is a young woman who knows who she is in life and what she wants, because of how in touch with her thoughts she has allowed herself to be.  Rocky wears her identity on her sleeve, which is a trait I think I embody also.

But here's the difference and the point where I must still aspire even now in my life:  dancing through the criticisms.

And I realize that there's an old axiom I have always denied, but which I have come to realize through Rocky is true.

You have to truly love yourself before others can love you.

And when you do love yourself, you're automatically a superstar, no matter the size of your audience.

And she helps me to realize that friends aren't a weakness.

Because I used to think that way.  

I used to be afraid of friendship.  I used to be afraid of closeness.  I used to pretend I was happy dealing with people exclusively through electronic media.  

But I wasn't happy.  I wasn't fulfilled.  I wasn't content.

I was depressed.

And I wanted so badly to express myself in the real world to shine, and to dance.

And, while the internet is the tool through which I am sending out this message, the fact is that it isn't the only place where I make my stand with my friends.

With help and inspiration from amazing characters like Rocky, I've made changes in my life over the last few years.  I've stepped outside my door.  I've opened myself up to risks.  And I've been unafraid to stand tall as who I am - even though I might not be as good as other people at some things, or might feel like I wouldn't compare.

But what Rocky has taught me is that an audience of friends doesn't mean your real friends are lying to you when they tell you they appreciate you.

Real friends aren't being disingenuous when they see your beauty and tell you how you shine.  

They're celebrating your victories with you.

And being able to joyfully celebrate those victories the way Rocky can means being willing to open up about the failures in a way that's honest and true about yourself.

Because friendships celebrate both successes and failures.

And, yes, sometimes your friends' concern for you can make it feel like they're haunting you, or showing up in your life when you least want them there.

But it's that concern that lets you know, too, that there's going to be someone who misses you in those times when you're feeling alone.

And this leads to the thought that being a friend like that to yourself has to come first ...

... so that you know that you matter to the world, that you're part of the dance, and that you can't just be easily replaced by some other amusement.

 

Sure, your friends need to do the best with what life has given them - but your real friends recognize you as one-of-a-kind and irreplaceable and precious ... but only if you see that in yourself, like Rocky does.

And that's the true nature of sharing.

And that's the true nature of togetherness, no matter the setting or the dance or the costume.

And - when you do this -  tough situations suddenly become less important than the people you're with when you're experiencing them.

And - when you do this - defeat or victory really does become less important.

And- - when you do this -  the little competitions that thwart you every moment of your life seem to matter a lot less than sharing them with your friends.

And words matter less than actions when it comes to how your friends treat you.

And truths become self-evident.

And criticism stops hurting quite so much, because you know it's from a place of caring.

And -  most of most of most of most of all, to me - those feelings you get when you share with your true friends can make you stand tall.

And when you can stand tall, like that, no hateful names in the world can matter - because you realize the beauty of who and what you are.

And when you can do that, all you see is love you share in the world with the people who care about you.