9 Reasons to Embrace Autistic Wandering

By Rose Ernst at The Autistic Traveler

I grew up in the woods in rural Alaska.

Back in the late 1970s, children weren’t as closely monitored as they are today. My earliest memories are of wandering in the woods behind our cabin with the soft, spongy earth beneath my feet and gigantic plants towering over me.

Yes, I wandered the woods alone. My parents were and are the best—I’m sure they kept an eye out for me. But from the perspective of a five-year-old, I was alone, meandering on a path through the ferns, devil’s club, and glistening watermelon berries.

Little did I know it, but I was an autistic wanderer.

Now, 40 years later, it all makes sense.

What is autistic wandering?

Before diving into the reasons wandering is wonderful, I want to acknowledge caregivers’ legitimate fears and the pathologization of autistic wandering, also known as “elopement.”

Here’s how Dr. Emily Hotez and Dr. Morénike Giwa Onaiwu (2023) define it:

“Approximately one- to two-thirds of autistic children are prone to wandering, defined as leaving a responsible person’s care or a safe area (alternatively referred to as elopement). Wandering often occurs in the form of the child running away at school or leaving the house when the family is not looking. Wandering can also occur in adolescents and adults, particularly among those with co-occurring intellectual disability. Specific groups may be at heightened risk for wandering, including autistic children ages five to nine and those with certain communication challenges.”

An “autistic wandering” Google search will produce terrifying stories from parents about their children wandering off. I get it. That must be scary.

But if we take a neurodiversity-centered approach, as Hotex and Onaiwu do, we might question why this happens.

Not so long ago, eye contact avoidance was seen (and still is) as pathological and problematic behavior.

Not so long ago, people thought autists lacked empathy. Even though the opposite is true, many still think that.

Wandering is another of those “behaviors” that neurotypicals fail to understand and appreciate. Children do things to endanger themselves every day, and yet we don’t pathologize such behaviors when (ostensibly) neurotypical children engage in them.

What about the privilege of wandering?
Being “able” to wander is a privilege on a micro and macro scale. On a micro-level, we need to consider things like physical movement, anxiety (agoraphobia), environment, as well as race, ethnic, gender, and gender-identity based violence. Sometimes, it’s not safe to walk out your front door.

On a macro scale, there are things like actual wandering across borders. If you have a US passport, white skin, class privilege, mobility (of all sorts), and a range of other privileges, you can wander the globe.

I have so many of these privileges (I’m a full-time traveler and nomad), meaning I’m free to engage in autistic wandering. My goal in writing this article is to argue we should all be free to wander, and to reassure fellow autists there’s nothing wrong with them for wandering.

Let’s get into it, shall we?

1. Wandering is stimulating and joyful
Like so many autists, I’m driven to and away from things based on sensory experiences. When you take a walk, it’s a full-body and sensory experience.

While I often try to avoid certain stimuli (e.g., direct sun, chemical smells, loud, startling noises), I often seek them out. In the case of visual stimuli, there’s nothing better than a walk.

Since my late diagnosis, I’ve realized my vision must be in a rich Technicolor compared to many neurotypicals. I see the texture of everything, the lush, saturated hues, and all the tiny details. Those tiny details that make autism so joyful. The things that everyone else misses. The murmured joke, the
way the sea ripples, and the grin on the passing terrier’s face.

When I add auditory stimulation, like my favorite music, I often experience ASMR. I think it must be like what others experience in a large movie theatre (often too much for me), only much better. Or a podcast that empties my brain or engages it in a new special interest.

2. It’s calming
When I return from a wander, I feel so much calmer, centered, and peaceful. There’s something about the repetitive motion of my body and brain moving together that is so soothing.

3. When you wander with a friend, it’s much easier to connect
Instead of a meal or having coffee with someone, I’d always prefer a walk. To me, it’s parallel play (cite). Walking side-by-side means I don’t have to manage my affect or worry about interpreting my friend’s affect (or get distracted by it). Instead, I can focus on the words, the tone, and the meaning.
And our conversation can wander, just like we’re doing with our bodies.

4. It tires your brain
My brain is always a busy little bee, pollinating this flower and then that flower—always with purpose, even though it appears random.

Much like an eager puppy, I’ve learned my brain needs lots of mental exercise! She needs to focus on a special interest intensely and then zone out, staring at the flowers. Wandering brings my brain back into a bubbling equilibrium (sounds like a contradiction, but it’s not).

5. It tires your body
Sleep is an issue for so many of us that wandering miles and miles can make me exhausted enough to sleep.

6. You’re free
When you’re wandering, you’re free from institutions, rules, social norms, and other confusing constraints that require too much cognitive/emotional/physical/spiritual energy to navigate.

It’s the time I feel most free. I can ruminate, and unlike when I’m stationary (in all senses of the word), it seems easier to decide if I want to ruminate instead of feeling compelled to do so.

7. It’s spiritual
To return to the first point, wandering is a total body experience for me. I often experience extreme highs and lows (see tear water tea) in a kind of self-regulation of pent-up emotions. It’s when I have my best ideas, realizations, and connections. It’s healing.

8. There’s a rhythm
When we’re in a new location, I like to find a regular route or two and stick to it. But isn’t that the opposite of wandering? Not really. It’s like eating the same thing every day or listening to the same audiobooks over and over. First, there’s a soothing piece about being able to not pay attention to the
route—there’s certainty in it (which we love!). Second, I see something different each time. I notice a detail I hadn’t seen yesterday, or how the sky has changed colors. And I see the same people and nod and smile at them. It’s reassuring yet freeing.

9. Wandering closes loops and minimizes meltdowns
Katherine May (2022) also talks about “loops” and our need to close them. If we don’t, it leads to a meltdown:
“Work tasks are open loops. Domestic chores. Governmental crises playing out over the news. Concern for people I know. Birthday cards, pumpkins for Halloween, Christmas looming, school bake sales, PE kit on Thursdays and cat litter running out. The fact that we all have to eat breakfast, every single day, and lunch, and dinner too. I do my best to minimise the open loops, but sometimes there are too many, and they can’t be closed. At that point, people begin to chase me for the loops that they’ve already opened, and that creates a whole new set of loops, made sharp by guilt. The more there are, the more I slow down. The loops take on an air of menace. Eventually, they block out the light.”

Loops are unavoidable, so I often focus on loops I can close.
Now. Today.
When I wander and return, that’s a loop I opened and finished. Nothing left to be done—it’s a feeling of achievement, although that sounds too productivity-oriented. It’s not.
It’s that no matter what else slips through my fingers today, I’ve wandered.
And that’s enough for me.
Where will you plan your next glorious wander?

Rose Ernst bio
Full-time traveler and late-diagnosed autist, writing to inspire and inform autistic travelers in navigating nomad life, sensory issues, and house-sitting.
The Autistic Traveler: https://theautistictraveler.com/