Inaccessibility is the thief of joy.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve been thinking a lot about joy lately, specifically how the emotion is universal, but the experience of it is not. As an autistic person, I often feel as though joy is something I can reach for but cannot grasp. I can \u2014 and do \u2014 feel joy. But I\u2019ve lost count of the number of times I\u2019ve had to skip out on joyful experiences, simply because they were not accessible to me. Sometimes, joy is too far away, like a remote island on the other side of the ocean, and I have no way to get there.\u00a0<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.publicsource.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/20260925-Eli-Kurs-Lasky-05.jpg\")
Eli Kurs-Lasky in the light and shadows of his neighborhood of Squirrel Hill, Sept. 25. \u201cLike most humans, I yearn to be understood and to be met with compassion even when it is difficult,\u201d Kurs-Lasky writes. (Photo by Stephanie Strasburg\/Pittsburgh\u2019s Public Source)<\/p>\n
Really though, here in Pittsburgh, the joy that eludes me is usually just across the river. I have a close friend, for instance, who I haven\u2019t seen in five-and-a-half months, even though she lives only five miles away from me. This isn\u2019t due to a lack of desire, but because neither of us has the means to travel the five miles that separate us. Five miles. A distance a car could travel in under 20 minutes. The car in this scenario, though, is hypothetical. Neither of us drives, though for different reasons.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My reason offers a glimpse into the barriers to joy that punctuate my life, which go well beyond transportation. Misheld beliefs, when reinforced and perpetuated by others, can make these barriers loom large, but when I\u2019m met with patience and empathy they feel less daunting, even if they don\u2019t completely disappear.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Driving with the brakes<\/p>\n
I did try driving, briefly. Shortly after turning 16, I did what was socially expected of me: I got my learner\u2019s permit, took driver\u2019s education classes and spent time behind the wheel actually driving. Like a lot of soon-to-be drivers, empty parking lots on weekend afternoons became my preferred way to get in practice hours. But unlike most of my peers, driving never appealed to me. I did it because I knew it was expected of me; it was a goal I was pursuing because it mattered to other people. What people didn\u2019t seem to know, though, was the deep-seated uneasiness that accompanied me every time I got behind the wheel, or even thought about doing so.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Eli Kurs-Lasky at the Squirrel Hill bus stop along Forbes Ave., Sept. 25. (Video by Stephanie Strasburg\/Pittsburgh’s Public Source)<\/p>\n
I\u2019m pretty sure I surprised even my seasoned driver\u2019s ed teacher. The few times he took me for practice drives, he noted that I had the opposite problem of most new drivers. I wasn\u2019t \u201cflooring the gas.\u201d In fact, I preferred not to use the accelerator at all! I did, however, like the brake a lot. The brake felt much less terrifying and it didn\u2019t send me into a mess of unease.<\/p>\n
Of course, I knew that the accelerator is key to getting anywhere. But if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have to use the accelerator at all. I preferred two modes: putting my foot on the brake and taking my foot off of it. I knew I couldn’t exactly explain this to others because my discomfort was invisible to them.<\/p>\n
The first time my permit expired, I followed the advice of others, and renewed it, \u201cjust in case\u201d I suddenly felt comfortable driving. I didn\u2019t. But the next time it expired, I let it lapse. I decided I was done with driving, done with making myself so uneasy and anxious just for the sake of meeting a milestone.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Bus fluency \u2014 until COVID<\/p>\n
For a while, this wasn\u2019t a problem. A few years prior, before starting high school, with the support of a small group of people, I learned how to navigate the then-named PAT bus system enough to get myself home from school every day. I was nervous every time, but I made it work. I don\u2019t know if it ever felt easy so much as it felt routine. In high school, and even a bit of college, my \u201cfluency\u201d riding the buses was enough to make my inability to drive a moot point.\u00a0<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.publicsource.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/20260925-Eli-Kurs-Lasky-08-2.jpg\")
Eli Kurs-Lasky at the bus stop in his neighborhood of Squirrel Hill on Sept. 25. Kurs-Lasky rode the bus multiple times a day for years, but eventually started feeling worn out by the long rides. (Photo by Stephanie Strasburg\/Pittsburgh\u2019s Public Source)<\/p>\n
For years, I rode the bus multiple times a day. Eventually, though, I started to feel worn out from bus rides and I noticed how depleted my energy was at the end of the day when I rode the bus home from campus. I pushed through, and kept pushing through until March 2020, when the COVID-19 pandemic reached Pittsburgh.<\/p>\n
Initially, I stopped riding the bus as a health precaution. I didn\u2019t want to be in close, cramped spaces that increased my risk of getting sick. From March 2020 to November 2025, I did not ride the bus even once. Since then, I\u2019ve been on the bus a total of four times. Each time was an absolute last resort, when I had to get to an appointment and had no other way of doing so. Somehow I had not only lost all sense of fluency navigating the bus ride, but the exhaustion I felt came back tenfold, and now with physical pain. I still don\u2019t know how to describe how or why this happened. Another invisible barrier.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Eli Kurs-Lasky at the bus stop with his fidget spinner, Sept. 25. (Video by Stephanie Strasburg\/Pittsburgh’s Public Source)<\/p>\n
Am I physically capable of riding the bus on my own \u2014 boarding, remaining seated, pulling the yellow cord at my desired stop, and then de-boarding? Mostly. The sensory and energy costs, however, are so great that it\u2019s often not a trade-off I\u2019m willing or able to make. These days, sitting on the bus triggers intense migraines and vertigo. I try to distract myself with music, a fidget toy, texting a friend. No matter what I try, though, a headache begins blooming, festering and growing until I can\u2019t ignore it. I get the sensation that everything around me is spinning or maybe I\u2019m the one who is spinning? The seasick feeling dissipates shortly after I get off the bus, but the migraine and vertigo last the rest of the day and often into the next. I generally lose three days to recovery.\u00a0<\/p>\n
People do not seem to understand invisible barriers. Because I look and seem able, people see me avoiding the bus as an act of \u2026 luxury? Stubbornness? I don\u2019t quite know.<\/p>\n
Why shouldn’t I get to go to a Pens game?<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve come to see two prevailing beliefs \u2014 misunderstandings, really \u2014 that shape how people interpret my disabilities. One is that sensory-sensitive individuals only experience joy in places specifically designed for autistic people (or designated as autism-friendly). The other is sensory aids are optional rather than necessary.<\/p>\n
This was hammered home during the NFL Draft our city proudly hosted in April. I\u2019d been generally ambivalent about the draft, though I didn\u2019t relish the thought of large crowds flooding into \u201cmy\u201d city.\u00a0 During the last day of the draft, I opened Instagram to see an article detailing some of the efforts to make the experience accessible to those with sensory sensitivities \u2014 such as having \u201cSensory Activation Vehicles\u201d that provide calm and quiet(er) settings and the option to borrow sensory aids (headphones, fidget toys, etc.). Overlaying the text was unsolicited advice from the Instagram user sharing the article: \u201cDon\u2019t attend one of the busiest, loudest and overstimulating events in all of sports.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Reading this prompted a prickly reaction inside me.<\/p>\n
An autism diagnosis says nothing about a person\u2019s likes or dislikes, or where they find enjoyment and comfort. Some of my experiences of joy \u201cmake sense\u201d as a largely sensory-avoidant person, such as browsing books at the library, reading and writing \u2014 all quiet, self-sustained activities. But there are activities and places that I enjoy that seem counterintuitive, such as joining a group of 20 other photographers as we walk en masse to explore different Pittsburgh neighborhoods or going to PPG Paints Arena to cheer on the Penguins with 18,870 other people in attendance.<\/p>\n
The \u201ccost\u201d of a trip to my local library is a lot less than, say, a hockey game. Even seemingly simple outings \u2014 meeting a friend at a cafe \u2014 prompt sensory bombardment and then exhaustion. But disabled people should have equal access to all spaces, even those that will overwhelm and exhaust us. Why should we be excluded from the spaces our neurotypical and nondisabled peers can access with ease? Am I supposed to abandon certain sources of joy simply because the environment was not made for me, because it \u201cdoesn\u2019t make sense\u201d that I enjoy it?\u00a0<\/p>\n
What people don\u2019t realize is that making a mockery of necessary accommodations such as quiet spaces and sensory aids pushes people like me out of these spaces. It feels like an effort to confine us to certain portions of society, preferably doctors\u2019 offices and other medical contexts where our disabilities don\u2019t have to interfere with others\u2019 enjoyment and where our accommodations \u201cmake sense.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
When the obvious answer doesn\u2019t work<\/p>\n
Like most humans, I yearn to be understood and to be met with compassion even when it is difficult. I\u2019m aware that my disabilities can require extra thought, creativity and problem-solving, and I wish others would more routinely offer to help \u201ccarry the load.\u201d I am weighed down by the shame of my difficulties and differences, and embarrass quickly at how often I depend on help from others. It seems the more invisible the barrier is, the less likely people are to believe in the accommodation.<\/p>\n
![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.publicsource.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/20260925-Eli-Kurs-Lasky-14.jpg\")
Eli Kurs-Lasky stands for a portrait at the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh – Squirrel Hill, the branch he regularly visits, on Sept. 25. As a largely sensory-avoidant person, Kurs-Lasky enjoys some quiet time at the library, reading and writing \u2014 but that doesn’t mean he’s averse to the energy of a crowded Penguins game. (Photo by Stephanie Strasburg\/Pittsburgh\u2019s Public Source)<\/p>\n
I\u2019m aware it seems as though there is often an obvious answer that will solve all of my problems, like: \u201cJust take the bus.\u201d I\u2019ve tried. What happens when the obvious answer is also an answer that doesn\u2019t work? Sheer force of will does not suddenly make the inaccessible accessible. So sometimes, I walk. Sometimes I depend on luck and the generosity of friends \u2014 that they want to go to the same place, and are willing to drive me. Other times, the answer is: I don\u2019t go.<\/p>\n
My ability to see friends, go to Penguins games, join photowalks, are all frequently stymied by the inability to get there. I long for the day when joy doesn\u2019t feel so complicated, when I can engage in activities and pursue opportunities simply because I\u2019m interested in them. I hope that, when I say no to making plans, it\u2019s because I\u2019m not interested in going, not because I\u2019m autistic and joy is just too far away.<\/p>\n