The Zen of Ambidexterity
If you're wondering where I've been, I'll tell you: two weeks ago I fractured my wrist falling off my bike, and have since foregone the use of my right (dominant) hand. And what began as a miserable nightmare - picture weeping tantrums of "I'm such a HAND-person!!" - has turned into the most illuminating experience.
I shall give the abridged version, as typing one-handed is a rotten pain. When they first put the cast on, I panicked. First off, you never realize how much your body is used to a particular kind of balance. With part of a limb now out of commission, my entire centre of gravity shifted, not only making me bump into things constantly, but making me feel like a stranger in my own body. From that alone I had a very emotional response. But furthermore, I became conscious for the first time at how much my lifestyle depends on the use of my right hand. I also became conscious of how much I identify myself by this lifestyle. I exclaimed to friends, family, foes: "I have a LIFESTYLE. I bike, I ski, I do yoga every day, I cook at least one meal a day from scratch, I journal CONstantly, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I write for a living. I play piano, I play guitar. This is who I am. There is no room for compromise."
But after a weekend of tantrumming, I was forced into the zen-perspective. I am discovering who I am WITHOUT those things. Granted, I'm getting much more adept at one-handed typing, and I can perform a garlic-chopping stunt that rivals Cirque de Soleil. But the other things...well, I'm learning that life goes on even when I can't journal my dreams the second I regain consciousness. That while I'm missing out on early spring biking, I get a whole other joy from daily walks on the mountain. That there are other routes to serenity besides yoga. That when I write with my left hand, the output is so painfully slow and elementary that it makes me feel completely unintelligent, suggesting perhaps that I measure my wisdom by the words I produce perhaps a little more than I'd like.
A big thing we talk about in yoga is the release of expectations. Or, as the Vogue-editor from Sex and the City puts it so succinctly, "Stop expecting things to be the way you thought they would be." In other words, maybe "who I am" is not so set in stone as I've thought. You find things you love, like biking, writing, piano, and you take them as clues into who you really are. But...take care, lest we get so attached to those things, and miss out on other depths of our selves that we cease to explore.
So in the spirit of reducing word-production and gazing inward to a different kind of wisdom, I shall end this here. I've got to get ready (read: put contacts in one-handed) for my x-ray appointment at the Vic. Based on the outcome, I could have the cast off today, or it could be another six weeks. One or the other.
At this point, I really wouldn't mind either way.
I shall give the abridged version, as typing one-handed is a rotten pain. When they first put the cast on, I panicked. First off, you never realize how much your body is used to a particular kind of balance. With part of a limb now out of commission, my entire centre of gravity shifted, not only making me bump into things constantly, but making me feel like a stranger in my own body. From that alone I had a very emotional response. But furthermore, I became conscious for the first time at how much my lifestyle depends on the use of my right hand. I also became conscious of how much I identify myself by this lifestyle. I exclaimed to friends, family, foes: "I have a LIFESTYLE. I bike, I ski, I do yoga every day, I cook at least one meal a day from scratch, I journal CONstantly, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I write for a living. I play piano, I play guitar. This is who I am. There is no room for compromise."
But after a weekend of tantrumming, I was forced into the zen-perspective. I am discovering who I am WITHOUT those things. Granted, I'm getting much more adept at one-handed typing, and I can perform a garlic-chopping stunt that rivals Cirque de Soleil. But the other things...well, I'm learning that life goes on even when I can't journal my dreams the second I regain consciousness. That while I'm missing out on early spring biking, I get a whole other joy from daily walks on the mountain. That there are other routes to serenity besides yoga. That when I write with my left hand, the output is so painfully slow and elementary that it makes me feel completely unintelligent, suggesting perhaps that I measure my wisdom by the words I produce perhaps a little more than I'd like.
A big thing we talk about in yoga is the release of expectations. Or, as the Vogue-editor from Sex and the City puts it so succinctly, "Stop expecting things to be the way you thought they would be." In other words, maybe "who I am" is not so set in stone as I've thought. You find things you love, like biking, writing, piano, and you take them as clues into who you really are. But...take care, lest we get so attached to those things, and miss out on other depths of our selves that we cease to explore.
So in the spirit of reducing word-production and gazing inward to a different kind of wisdom, I shall end this here. I've got to get ready (read: put contacts in one-handed) for my x-ray appointment at the Vic. Based on the outcome, I could have the cast off today, or it could be another six weeks. One or the other.
At this point, I really wouldn't mind either way.