Are you other-handed? Even a wee bit? Do you sometimes forget which hand is your dominant hand?
I’m a dexter. My right hand is my dominant hand. But sometimes I forget that and reach for a pen or pencil with my left. I have an honest, if misguided, belief that I’m a sinister.
It came about naturally. My mom was right–handed, but she picked and cleaned berries left-handed and played cards that way, too. She could write with either hand. Dad used a pitchfork left-handed.
Maybe it was from watching mom, or maybe there’s a genetic predisposition, but I’ve caught myself many times over the years acting as though I were a lefty not a righty. I like it. I think in some small way it rounds out my character.
If I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor I’m more likely to do it left-handed. I open jar lids left-handed and do a way better job than I can do with my right hand. And now something new has been added. I’ve taken to helping Mike with the dishes. Not every night, but most nights I’ll dry while he washes. I do it left-handed and it feels like the most natural and normal way to do it.
Oh, I’ve tried to do it with my right hand. It’s okay for a while, but it’s actually kind of awkward. Using my left hand brings a smooth flowing rhythm to the task. Best of all, using the left side of the body kicks up the right side of the brain.
I’ve muddled around with cheap watercolor paints to try to boost my creativity and I use my left hand for that. I am a lousy artist, but at least I can claim I’m firing up my imagination. By drying dishes left-handed maybe I’m firing up my brain for an evening of writing.
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