"Rabbit's clever," said Pooh thoughtfully.
"And he has Brain."
"I suppose," said Pooh, "that that's why he never understands anything."
(Excerpt from 'The House At Pooh Corner', by AA Milne)
Sometimes I wonder whether being intelligent and literate is a hindrance rather than an asset. There’s a joke in AA (that’s Alcoholics Anonymous, NOT the Automobile Association!) that the people with the most intelligence are actually the dumbest when it comes to trying to follow the 12 Step Programme. They tie themselves in knots complicating everything, when it’s really very simple. I have to concede to being one of them, though I now have the “excuse” of being autistic to explain why it took me so long to get it. Not to mention having been labouring under the illusion that I was just one of your average, non-autistic brand of alcoholics, whose main block to recovery was a big brain coupled with a massive ego.
It’s true, I do have these in abundance too. But I also have a ‘little something extra’ that makes a massive difference – I don’t understand the words. Unfortunately this problem is compounded by me believing that I do: which means it never occurs to me to ask for help. After all, if you already think you know why would you ask someone to explain it?