On the Other Hand
Not sure about you, but I’ve been quite forlorn by the glut of disturbing current events. Whether it is a 10-year old girl in Indiana or a child in the Ukraine, how can one unplug from all this dire news when people are suffering? Face it, it’s been tough to look the world straight in the eye.
Recently, I overheard a pundit say worse is coming. My innards all but shouted, “Worse? It gets worse?” My head dropped into my hands. It was then I took notice. Two hands. I have two of them. Suddenly, I realized I had merely been looking at one.
The hand I’d been staring at showed me daily that the world is frightening and terrible things happen. ’Tis true. Listen to the news; the evidence is damning.
But what about the other hand? The one with love and friendship and neighbors and dogs and passions and hobbies and music and words and sunsets and dewy dawns? Doesn’t this list go on and on?
Of course, each person’s delightful other hand is specific to themselves, but no matter. It is clear as day. Indeed, there is joy in this messy world just as there is tragedy. Two hands. Both valid and significant.
On the days where the heavy hand of oppression and cruelty are impossible to ignore, I can look to my other hand to remind me of what is holy. Remarkably, it’s often found in the simplest of forms. Kindness. A breath. Drops of rain that fall to earth.
Maybe grace is the definition of this other hand. That one can spy the solo ripe berry in the overgrown hedge or see beyond someone’s petty behavior to the beating heart inside. Grace, as in how the dictionary describes it, “unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration.”
This spiritual renewal provided by our other hand seems to be an alchemy of awareness, appreciation, and connection. And as real as what’s on the news.
Sometimes, all it takes is a mere glance at our other hand to ignite this grace. Let’s face it, the hand itself is quite a marvel. As Alan Alda said when portraying Hawkeye, “Have you any idea of the incredible complexity of this piece of human apparatus?”
At other times, we can’t seem to find our hopeful hand, though it dangles at our side. Understandably, we’re distracted by obligations and stressors that multiply overnight. It is here, in the muck, where I’ve begun practicing something to remind me of this hand’s resuscitating powers.
I hold my two hands palms up and close my eyes for a beat. That’s it. This small gesture sparks my consciousness and reminds me of the sublime truth that, of course, there isn’t just bad in this world. There’s oh so much more.
Granted, sounds silly or simplistic. But, is it? Turns out acknowledging this buoyant other hand has the power to improve relationships, sharpen minds, and even extend our lives. Seems a worthwhile trade to me.
It was a dairyman from Anatevka who first introduced me to the two-hand concept. In the midst of growing anti-Semitism in Czarist Russia, Tevye found his two hands not only revelatory, but edifying.
When his daughter Tzeitel begs to break tradition and wed an impoverished tailor, Tevye wrangles both sides. “On the other hand, he is an honest, hard worker. But on the other hand, he has absolutely nothing. On the other hand, things could never get worse for him, only better.”
Tevye’s “other hand” mantra is more than an ode to the yin-yang of our lives. It reminds us how, like the fiddler on the roof, we need balance. We need both hands. Tevye used his to hold opposing truths simultaneously. He did this in order to help him navigate a bumpy, scary, and changing world.
I can learn to do the same.
Carole Vasta Folley's In Musing column has won awards from the Vermont Press Association, The New England Newspaper and Press Association, and the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.