My hands are small I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
-Jewel “Hands”
I love that Jewel song. (It also has my life mantra: “In the end only kindness matters.”) It focuses on the capabilities of our hands. A perfect preface to my mid week check-in on “How to Train a Wild Elephant.” The challenge was to observe and appreciate hands.
A few years back when I was in a writing group, my mentor pointed out that my short stories often featured hands prominently. I hadn’t realized it. Yet, I’ve always been a fan of hands, mine in particular. They may be stubby. My fingers nails may resemble a fieldworker’s. My cuticles may be a manicurist’s worst nightmare. Still, my hands are resilient. They type. They hold. They communicate. I favor them over my feet. I believe in the power of hands.
When I was 28, I vividly remember this incident. I was outrageously angry at this guy. I don’t remember the specifics of the altercation. I just remember being consumed in negativity. He was being arrogant and mean and smug. We were in a car with a bunch of other people. I was silently livid. The guy I was with took my hand in his and my anger dissipated. I remember that we didn’t exchange a word or a glance. He just knew. And he held my hand. I had such relief.
My friend Bill the priest often prays by putting his face in his hands. I’ve seen him do this gesture on the altar for almost four decades. I’ve adopted it. At the lowest moments of my life, I drop my face into my hands. It’s like masking myself from the outside world while I heal myself. I’m laying hands literally on myself. My hands are a power tool always available to me.
When I was in college, Jeff teased me mercilessly for my party gesture habit. When I was drinking and chatting, I would place my hand on the other person’s forearm. He saw it as an intrusion to someone’s personal space. I saw it as an intimate gesture of connectivity. Although he broke me -mostly- of that habit, I still use my hands to communicate…even to strangers. I’m not a touchy-feely kind of gal yet I like to shake hands when I meet someone. As a server, I place my hand on a guest’s back to indicate I’m behind them with a drink or plate. I don’t want them to flail into it.
The book’s discoveries section discusses how hands react to things without our conscious focus. The burner feels hot so our hand flinches away. In the night, our hand adjusts a pillow under our head. If we trip and fall, our hands instinctively react to minimize the impact on her body. Independently or collectively, hands are marveling.
Final Words: The two work together effortlessly to accomplish many wonderful things and they never harm each other. Could this become true for any two human beings?
-”How to Train a Wild Elephant”