The Other Hand

The wrist

(image courtesy of yesterday)

Yesterday I thought I broke my wrist.

All the signs were there:

The fall.

The loud crack/pop sound.

The pain.

The sweating and dizziness.

The embarrassment.

Today, I just have a sprain.

For the next few days I will be wearing a wrist brace. The brace keeps the wrist from moving and/or causing interesting pain.

As I went about my daily routine tasks this morning, I couldn’t help but notice the role my left hand plays in life. I am right-handed. So therefore, the right hand must be the more important hand, right? If you ask me, I would say with pride, “right-handed” as if it was some badge of honor.

But there is the other hand. The left hand.

Little did I know that while right hand was taking all the credit, left hand was doing a bulk of the hard work. Carrying more weight, steering the car, holding the [plate, coffee carafe, cereal bowl, milk carton and everything else], pulling out chairs, typing on the that side of the keyboard, holding my phone, and the list goes on.

I began to wonder if this hand view carries over to our world view.

There are a lot of right hands out there, beaming with pride at their role and what they can accomplish.

But there are also left hands. Who support, carry and even direct the outcomes, but with a little less flair, and perhaps in the second seat.

Maybe this injury will help recalibrate the hierarchy of hands that seems to exist, and I will begin to see them as more equal partners on the same team.

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