When one hand doesn't wash the other.....
one eventually realizes that there is a problem. I can often times be rather unconscious. That last statement from Captain Obvious and the hand washing metaphor are so timely and they can be applied all the way across so many areas of my life right now.
Task oriented doesn't begin to describe me. I wash my hands to get them clean. I don't contemplate the process. Well, I didn't until about a month ago when I realized that without exception, my left hand washes the right. They both get clean but it happens because of the deft and decisive action of the left with absolutely no contribution from the right. The right hand isn't thwarting the process in any way. It is simply a passive part of the happenings.
When I noticed this slip of dexterity I noted that I wash my hair one handed, apply most of my make-up, and brush my teeth all with my left hand. I used to be right dominant. I then noticed that the dog sitting to my right received less affectionate stroking than the dog to my left. My hand refuses to cooperate fully and feels more rigid and unfeeling rather than a living extension of myself.
I know well that the less a body does, the less it will be capable of doing. Even though I despise pointless wastes of time like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle I decided it would be a worthy endeavor as a means of working on some fine motor hand therapy. So I started a 1000 piece scene of British Columbia. Only 900 pieces in I realized that I became engrossed in completing the picture and had been relying on my left hand exclusively to fit the pieces together. When I would switch back to using my right I became frustrated at its fumbling and feeble attempts. I of course laughed at my good intentions gone wrong but then I began to reflect.
I stopped laughing. I stopped trying to fit the pieces together at all costs. I really wanted the sense of accomplishment that fitting the last piece in would bring. I wanted to see the happy scene come together as a reflection of the order I'd brought forth from a pile of random chaos. I wanted the approval of others and the recognition for my efforts. I didn't want to leave it unfinished but I suddenly lost the zeal for pretty pictures, approval and respect from others that would even have regard for such a thing. We're talking about a jigsaw puzzle aren't we!?
No, we're not. I'm talking about my life and I don't think I want to pretend that living the rest of it with one hand that does not wash the other is nearly enough for me anymore.
