A question that should quickly clarify a wrongdoing.
However, as an autistic person, the answer to this question involves more connections than is usually expected when asking this simple question.
If a complete answer is possible at all.

Because both right and wrong weigh extremely heavily in my life. That’s why I strive for rules and clear guidelines and the certainty that I’m doing something right. This is far easier done in the digital realm, which ultimately comes down to 0 and 1, than in the human-social-personal realm, where feelings and individuality tend to predominate.

Over the course of my life, I have continued to develop and build “my right world” and draw the boundaries to the best of my knowledge and to the sets of my beliefs. Whether in the linguistic sphere, where in the know of the correct pronunciation a wrong one causes me physical pain, or in the moral sphere, where an observed deviation from common good manners presents me with monstrous inner problems.

The scary thing is that the sensor for right and wrong is tied to my emotions and constantly gives off a rousing signal. However, a central autistic characteristic is the ability to oppose these unruly feelings with walls and barriers of logic and inner convictions. In this way, I can turn an overwhelming wrong signal into a weakened wrong signal or even an energy-saving right signal through some certain processing steps.

It is precisely this blatant process of feeling that makes the contrast between right and wrong so so exciting (and not always in a positive sense).

Because if something is wrong, it’s not just wrong, it’s also not right, which makes it even more wrong and even further away from the right side, making it more wrong and more wrong, so that it’s near unbearable. This also explains my fortunately few but obvious emotional outbursts, in which my inner processing steps no longer worked. And all the skills I have learned that could help me to classify and mitigate wrong signals are then to far to access.

In such a moment of need, it is then necessary to explain one’s own conviction of what is right and to explain the current deviations from this in their respective severity. This, in turn, requires that the relevant elements of what is right can be verbalized in a way that is preferably appropriate for the target group and it will embarrassing highlight one’s own responsibility for judging something as wrong. And because this is a large-scale and in itself nerve-wracking action, I tend to adapt my social algorithm to prevent my feelings from arising in the first place and stay away from situations where this could happen.

Whether this separates me more from the outside world or allows me to live as part of it might be a differentially situated matter…

That special interests are part of the autistic phenomenon is commonly known, with me never feeling strange thanks to my friendly environment, where as a child I diligently searched computer game files for interesting fragments, knew the latest car models and mobile phones inside and out, was probably the only young person with an active interest in classical music, or even today could find any bare skin in those books of knowledge with astonishing precision.
Special interests, which are highly absorbing and obsessively pursued activities, can also change, recur, or even disappear over time.

But this is not what this is about, rather the flip side.
Because as much as we try to see autism through the most positive eyes and special interests are mostly viewed benevolently (and rightly so, because this hyperfocus is essential for a neurodivergent brain), there are also purely restrictive behaviors.
And these are less about rejecting hostile sensory impressions, like the residual aromas of mint oil (yuck) or the nonsensical mixture of milk and pasta (sob) or the avoidance of agitated crowds (demonstrations are the worst).
It’s about things to which similar energies are devoted as to one’s own fields of interest, but with the fundamental difference that these things are rejected with an unshakable and disadvantage-accepting power.

For me, this includes (but is not limited to): local radio, soccer, the dubbing of films into another language.
If I were not capable of self-reflection, this would sound like unnecessary hate; and for a long time, I did not understand where these deep aversions came from. I even liked soccer as a child, at least the 2002 World Cup sticker album with all the data and facts and its collecting appeal. But something about the extent of the emotions and personal observations of how a person’s nature can change while playing did not fit with the game in and of itself. And projecting all this onto today’s big soccer industry, I only have incomprehension and a big blockade against soccer fan culture circles. The good news: I feel good about my point, and so do the others about theirs.
And the thrill of rooting for something uncontrollable can be satisfied in other ways, anyway.

Music is another special matter, related to conscious engagement with musical works and the appreciation of a very individual and sometimes extremely emotional art form. Due to the over the years doubtful selection of local radio stations in Germany and the focus on “easy to listen to and safe” and the fact that it is widely turned on because of the “radio” and not because of the contents it broadcasts, local radio fits so little into my worldview and my sensory funnels that I reject it categorically and with deep conviction.
And “just turning it off” is unfortunately impossible, as my brain perceives sounds almost unfiltered alongside my ears.

Regarding films, I have already encountered indignation and incomprehension with other Germans, as this people apparently care more about understanding every translated word (also acoustically foolproof through the dubby style of talking) than appreciating the acting performance. Because silent film has long been out of style and nowadays an actor conveys his role mainly through his voice.
It is also a question of the overall work: What language did the crew probably speak, and to which language world can the thoughts on set or in the studio be assigned? Is the vision of those responsible for the creation and completion of the film possibly related to a specific language?
Undoubtedly, dubbing creates jobs and accessibility (alongside subtitles, mind you), but can it also create art?
Examples of special dubbing are the films with Bud Spencer and Terence Hill, which acquired cult status in German only through their very artistic and free translations. Or Coldmirror’s Harry Potter parodies, where I am a bit cautious not to eventually disrespect the original work.
If someone values the factual content of a film within the German speaking style more than what actually contributed to its creation, then I am probably sitting on an opposite branch of the film tree and accept it but cannot reconcile it with my personal claim to art and culture.

What I would like to point out with this is the following: The reasons behind special interests and special disinterests often lie in the same nest and can reflect the same core.

Even if a person, whether child or adult, cannot precisely say what now makes them fight tooth and nail against a “completely normal, even great” thing, there are deeper reasons. And those reasons may even be quite positive ones and recognizable based on the special interests often in focus.

Lately, I have been overflowing about a pastime that is not new, but has become a trusty companion in recent months.

It is board games.

Slowly, the wounds of at time even miserably plain experiences with mediocre games have been replaced with exciting thrills and fleshed out stories to tell and to recommend.
We’ve built zoos, sailed mystic waters, fought breathtaking battles, saved civilizations, went to space, wandered degenerated dungeons, hunted cryptids and so much more!

The general fascination with predetermined worlds I laid out in this bit already.
But with board games, the stretch between a story to tell and the abstracted version of it is much more intricate.
Through mechanics and artwork, haptics and rules, premise and expectations, they make for a wonder-filled reason to get together with friends and family.

Getting to know a game, obsessing over a game, mastering a game or sharing all those joys with others, those are the dream of those who think up and make games.
I am sure, everyone has had their contact with board games and there are many preferences out there.

Coming together and sharing them is a sweet game in itself, though as much as an autistic person loves all those game mechanics, shouldn’t they have reservations about the whole “other people” deal?

A great example, which I often like to use, is the 11-to-11 gaming day a friend organised a while back, when I was down on my energy. Still, the plan was flexible enough to test my battery and go home any time.
Did I go home before 11pm? No. Were there many people? Yes. Did I know most of the people? No. Did I play with them regardless? Yes. Did I run out of energy even remotely? No. Was I surprised in the end? A bit.

Turns out, board games, besides their obvious spoils, are a stellar example of accommodations to my brain:

1. There is a rule book that explains everything that is to know about the game on the table.
2. Any contents of the box are listed neatly.
3. Any kind of desirable act or victory related aspect is laid out as a central part.
4. If the premise is not divergent, the game is to be fair.
5. The players have a shared vocabulary for critical elements.
6. Games have end conditions.
7. The chances of finding order, rather than chaos, are high.
8. Within the rules, anything is possible.

Sure, the fun of some game nights is determined by accompanying circumstances, second by set expectations, but only after a huge gap by the very fact that a board game is being played.

Now come into the danger comfort zone and let’s play!