Abstract
Following is a brief musing on Roy Grinker’s discussion of what the puzzle piece symbolizes for autism during his presentation at the 2015 International Meeting for Autism Research. In his words, “The puzzle piece is ubiquitous.” It likely holds a different meaning for each of us, and this is how one autism researcher sees it.
Listening to Roy Grinker’s reflections on the puzzle piece during his keynote address at the International Meeting for Autism Research this year, I thought about how I view this symbol in relation to autism. For me, it represents autism spectrum disorder as a huge jigsaw puzzle, and all of us—clinicians, researchers, therapists, families, other advocates—are working on different sections. I am in one corner, trying to fit several pieces that look similar. My puzzle partners are scattered far and wide, working on their respective sections, as well. Some of them have been working on this puzzle for a very long time; some are just joining the party. It is difficult to know how many pieces we are working with. Those who have been here the longest say that it seemed much smaller in the past—maybe 100 pieces. But we all agree that there are many more now.
Several of my puzzle partners have pieces that look similar to mine; we work closely together and often realize we each had pieces the other was looking for. We also help each other out. “Turn it that way—see! Now it fits!” Sometimes, I find a piece that doesn’t belong in my section. It looks like it could fit in an area my puzzle colleague across the way is working on, so I give it to her. Other people working on the puzzle do the same for me. We celebrate the small successes when two pieces go together; I smile as I watch my puzzle partners celebrate with high fives. Sometimes, there are disagreements about whether a piece truly fits where someone has placed it. “That piece doesn’t go there!” “Yes it does!” “No it doesn’t!” Some of these disagreements are resolved over time as more pieces are connected. Some puzzle partners continue to disagree. Sometimes I get stuck, looking for a particular piece that evades me. I have to stop and focus on an adjacent section. Looking around at how others are putting their pieces together also helps. Sometimes, my puzzle partners and I reach out to people who are working on a completely separate puzzle for help; they often bring a fresh perspective and experience from contemplating their own puzzle.
Occasionally I feel a true sense of accomplishment, like when I fill in a whole corner or connect two seemingly disparate sections. I stand up and turn around in excitement, only to see that a new pile of puzzle pieces has been added. I don’t know how to feel about this. Fitting together certain sections always seems to result in more pieces. I run over to pick them up to see whether I can work with them. Yes, I can—in fact, one of them might … go … here …
There is no picture on the box for this puzzle, so none of us knows how big it will be or what it is really supposed to look like in the end (or if there even is an end). Many puzzle partners like to focus on the outer edge before moving inward, but most of those pieces still are not in place. We use what we know about the puzzle so far to guide us, and we continue to work together. That is the only way. However, I am confident that some day, we will look across a nearly complete puzzle because it is clear that we are making progress. Sure, it is overwhelming at times, and provocative, and intimidating, and evasive, but it is also interesting, exciting, rewarding, and important. Yes, we are definitely making progress, and that motivates us all the more.