Being left-handed is no small thing in this right-handed world of ours. It’s not leprosy or anything, but it does consign those of us who live with it to a never-ending status of Otherhood.
I tell my right-handed friends that my mind literally works differently from theirs. It isn’t anything that we get to choose, but it’s felt much more acutely by southpaws like me than for righties like (I’m assuming here) you.
Why can I assume the person reading this is right-handed? A lifetime of looking around classrooms and meeting rooms–which is about the only time a person’s hand preference manifests itself–tells me this. Maybe there’s another lefty in a given room, but more than one would be a shocker.
Although I wouldn’t trade my unique perspective on the world for anything, sometimes I feel the urge to describe what it’s like, for the benefit of those who never have to think about such things.
And now back to my right-handed world. Thanks for reading.