It is World Autism Awareness Day.
The White House is blue.
The Empire State Building is blue.
The Eiffel Tower is blue.
Skylines, bridges, landmarks all over the world … blue. The fucking Sphinx and the Great Pyramids of Egypt and Niagara Falls and all the great wonders of the world are bathed in deep blue light.
My social media feeds are bursting with blue.
And so I wonder: What is it about the color blue that attaches to a diagnosis of autism in this way? Yeah, I know from the researchers I’ve tapped who study the human brain that certain colors can affect our mood states. I get that blue can be a calming trigger—it tells us all is right in our world. But what I don’t get is the symbolism that shines a blue light on what it means to live with autism. It’s completely new to me, and as I take in all these images, I wonder how this is something I’ve missed. The study of the human brain has become my abiding passion, away from music. I want to know how it works, how it doesn’t. I’ve put together this great network of top scientists, who very patiently walk me through all these breakthrough discoveries and turn me on to what it all might mean, so I reach out on this. I ask around, and nobody seems to know what the color blue signifies when it comes to autism. I look online, and nobody seems to know.
Best I can tell, the international symbol for autism is that familiar multicolored puzzle piece. It’s blue, red, green, and yellow. You’ve probably seen it on T-shirts, hats, banners, whatever. The colors are meant to represent all the colors on the spectrum, reminding us that whether or not we carry a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder, we all sit somewhere on that spectrum. The human palette is filled with countless shades. The puzzle piece is meant to represent the ways we all fit together. Whatever our reality is, whatever our perception is, whatever our abilities are, they link up in some way to the realities, perceptions, abilities we all share.
That’s such a powerful message, when you break it down. Such a powerful image. It puts it out there that we are made whole by the ways we adjust to each other, the ways we compensate for each other. One person’s suffering is absorbed by another’s abundance. One family’s hardship is made easier by another family’s generosity. The idea is we can accommodate, adjust to anything, long as we work as a cohesive unit. Long as our big picture is clear.
At least that’s how I see it. People bring their own meaning to the symbol, I guess—to the colors, too. But what strikes me today is how we’re meant to “light it up blue” to promote autism awareness. Why blue? What happened to those other colors? There’s some controversy to this, I’m learning. A lot of folks say the focus on blue comes from a marketing effort by Autism Speaks, probably the most influential advocacy group dedicated to individuals and families on the spectrum. Turns out this global awareness day is pretty much their deal, and this is what the brand has become. In fact, some municipalities won’t light their buildings or their public spaces blue because they see it as some kind of fund-raiser. For years, the White House wouldn’t participate. Governments around the world wouldn’t participate.
And now they do—so, end of the day, who cares what’s behind this initiative? It’s struck a chord, and that chord is resonating, and that chord is blue. The message is going viral, and it’s lit by the deep blue of hope and acceptance, and as we stop to reach for that blue T-shirt in the back of our dresser drawer, or the blue lightbulb we used to light our front walkway at some years-ago party, we’re finding ways to connect with each other, to support each other, to accommodate each other … and in this way the color can knit us together.
We are all the same, in the end. We are all on the same spectrum. We are blue with compassion for the suffering of these families. We are blue with admiration, at the strength they find a way to tap every day. We are blue with joy, at the blessings we breathe into the lives of the people who care for us.