Dear Reader,
Due to unforeseen circumstances this week requiring my full attention away from my desk Iāve found myself in the position of unearthing my latest buried treasure of a post rather sooner than Iād been anticipating.
Stay tuned for next Saturday, when I hope to publish the post intended originally for today. āDear Reader, I wonā will show you the culmination of my inept, hapless and, in place, hilarious, fitness training which Iād described in my Jog log šš» between the end of July and the end of August. š
Back to today, though: in this āOld goldā post Iām rewinding to early December last year, and sharing again an exploration of my identity as a left-hander in a world that is engineered rather more towards my right-handed friends.
If youāre reading āMy awkwardness is sinisterā for the first time today, Iām so glad that youāre here! And of course even if you have seen this post before, I hope youāll still enjoy the read.
My awkwardness is sinister: when left is right
Dear Reader,
You might be surprised to learn that a disorient1 like me has no problem at all in differentiating left from right. Thatās something thatās ingrained: itās built-in, pre-programmed, in the way that north, south, east and west are not. I donāt have to even think about which is left and which is right: itās automatic. I know my port from my starboard, my nearside from my offside, which side I need to mount a horse and which hand I would need for wielding a sword in hypothetical combat. And Iāve always known that this phrase, offered up by a teacher in my very early school days, didnāt apply to me:
The right hand is the one that you write with, and the left hand is the one thatās left.
Thatās not to say that I have no problem with left and right, because I do. As a left-hander I struggle with the fact that the world seems to be set up by default for the right-handed.
I get it, I do. Left-handed people are in the minority by quite a long way. In this story BBC Newsround reported that between ten and twelve percent of the worldās population is left-handed. Thatās a huge statistic, in that itās really not huge. In terms of proportion, I mean. I almost feel left out! More so, in fact, because this article reports that while across the world 12% of men are left-handed, only 8% of women are.
Reader, if youāre right-handed, take a moment to consider the things that you take for granted for their accessibility and ease of use. And if youāre left-handed, consider the things that inconvenience you in their inaccessibility. I wonder how much those two lists overlap? Iād venture to say itās a lot.
For instance, on which side of the front of your suit trousers is that convenient little pocket for your train ticket? And more importantly, whereās the slot for that ticket in that gleaming bank of ticket barriers at the railway station?
Both are on the right. Of course they are.
Left-handed and lost
The first time ā of many ā that I got lost in London I had been left behind at the Tube station one evening on a school sixth-form2 trip to see a play at the National Theatre. Weād finally been deemed mature old enough to make the trip unaccompanied by staff, so nobody had felt obliged to notice that I was missing.
At the Tube station Iād posted my Travelcard into the slot on my left as I made to pass through the barrier in front of me. The barrier didnāt open. Or at least that one didnāt: Iād open sesamed the one on my left simply because that was my dominant side, and putting my ticket in there had felt natural. An amused station staff member let me through, giggling āticket on the rightā, and once Iād finally caught up with my friends at the theatre I was in such a state that it was all I could to not weep my way through the first act.
(Reader, if youād like to know the plot of āThe School for Scandalā by Richard Brinsley Sheridan, please donāt ask me. My mind was elsewhere during the entire performance: Iād left it ā alongside every scrap of confidence Iād set out with that evening ā at the Green Park ticket barrier.)
Remember that ticket pocket? The one for right-handed people? Clothing often has a right-handed bias. The zip-up jacket I wear on my chillier walks has what should be a convenient sleeve pocket, but itās located inconveniently on its left sleeve, where my left hand canāt reach it. My walking trousers and shorts ā pretty much the only things I wear on the bottom half these days since developing my passion for the great outdoors ā each have a back pocket.
A back pocket. One. Singular.
And itās on the right.
Many products that have been thoughtfully designed for the convenience of the general population can be rather less convenient for the likes of me. Regard, if you will, this early version of a clever all-in-one spoon, knife and fork:
This gadget is easy to cut with if youāre wielding it in your right hand, but because of its ergonomic curve the fork is actually pointing backwards if youāre trying to use the serrated edge left-handed. There are various brands and models of tools like this now ā including left-handed ones ā and thereās at least one out there that isnāt āhandedā at all, its serrated edge being located at the end of the spoon part.
Mugs, particularly ones with pithy slogans or commercial advertising, often have their designs printed on one side ā the side easily displayed by the right-handed drinker.
And what about pens and pencils? This pencil belongs to a āSUPER READERā. Well, youāre a super reader if youāre using the pencil right-handed. But am I, a left-hander, a super writer with it? Clearly not: the sloganās upside down. Not so super.
I treasure the pencil below, though. It was a free gift that had come with an Etsy purchase, and the seller had pyrographed her company name on the pencil from left to right. (And she didnāt even know that Iām left-handed.)
Ha! I win!
Mugs and writing implements aside ā for their handedness is for reasons of prettiness rather than practicality ā there is one product with which I really struggle as a left-hander.
Reader, Iām rubbish with scissors ā and that statement cuts both ways (sorry!). I find both left-handed scissors and their standard right-handed counterparts difficult. Theyāre uncomfortable to use, and even I laugh at myself when Iām trying to cut a piece of paper.
Iāve tried left-handed scissors ā Father Christmas left a pair in my stocking one year, blades duly taped by his elves as a necessary nod to safety ā but I couldnāt use them. Although they were far more comfortable to hold and to handle than a standard pair, I couldnāt make them actually cut, which Iām sure youāll agree is a pretty basic requirement.
Over the years Iād been persevering, albeit uncomfortably, with operating standard scissors with my left hand in such a way as to make those awkward blades engage with what Iād be trying to cut, which I would manage by pulling back as I closed them in order to make the blades better grip the paper. Yet even though I now had a pair of left-handed scissors in my armoury I just couldnāt reverse-engineer all that reprogramming. Trying to cut using my tried-and-tested technique but with a left-handed pair was a total non-starter, to put it bluntly. š
The wrong way to mark work that is right ā
Iād once toyed with the idea of becoming a school teacher3, and Iām amused, with hindsight, to think about how very difficult I would have found it to mark pupilsā work.
Because Reader, I cannot tick. Drawing a tick is very much a right-handed movement, requiring the pulling rather than the pushing of the pen. My ticks are half-ticks which head upwards and left: the handwritten equivalent of a backslash, the result of a pull, not a push.
Yet my left-handedness is very compatible with my bullet journalling habit! Task bullets, migration and scheduling arrows, note lines, event circles and signifiers all appear on the left-hand side of the page. Earlier I wrote about things people take for granted in terms of their handedness, and this is a rare thing that I take for granted. In this case, the right way round is my way round!
I win again!
Left-handed learning
I love to learn, and over the years Iāve taken workshops in a succession of creative pursuits. Where handedness comes into play ā as it so often does with crafts ā Iāve become used to automatically interpreting instructions and demonstrations for myself so that I can do them āmyā way round. This has never been a problem: I have grown to expect that I need to do this, and itās become second nature.
(Disclaimer: I failed at crochet demonstrated by a right-handed textile artist. Iām grateful to Bella Coco on YouTube for her amazing left-handed crocheting videos.)
When I started teaching my own craft of melting glass in the flame to create lampwork beads I would ask my students in advance which their dominant hand was so that I could set their workbenches up in the appropriate orientation. My first couple of demos to a class would be right-handed, and then with a flourish Iād grab my glass rod with my left hand to make a bead that way round.
āIf you find it more comfortable to do it this way, please go ahead!ā Iād say with a wink. āBecause all the best people are left-handed4!ā
Reader, this would always be an excellent ice-breaker, but more than that, it brought home to my students, regardless of their handedness, that there might be more than one way to accomplish a task.
For my wirework jewellery making classes I made sure to flip the pictures and swap the words āleftā and ārightā in the instructions on my handouts. Iād demonstrate both ways round ā always with an apology for the probably less-than-perfect finished article made with my wrong right hand.
And look, there it is. The āwrongā versus ārightā side of things.
If itās not right, is it wrong?
Well, is the opposite of ārightā wrong? In handedness terms, I mean. Well, Iām not sure it is exactly, but thereās certainly a historical stigma there.
I plucked the French word for left, gauche, out of the air, and flicked it screaming into the Google search bar.
Hereās what I found courtesy of Merriam Webster:
Although it doesnāt mean anything sinister,Ā gaucheĀ is one of several words (including sinister) with ties to old suspicions and negative associations relating to the left side and use of the left hand. In French,Ā gaucheĀ literally means āleft,ā and it has the extended meanings āawkwardā and āclumsy.ā These meanings may have come about because left-handed people could appear awkward trying to manage in a mostly right-handed world, or perhaps because right-handed people appear awkward when trying to use their left hand. Regardless, awkwardness is a likely culprit. Fittingly, awkwardĀ itself comes from the Middle EnglishĀ awke, meaning āturned the wrong wayā or āleft-handed.ā On the other hand, adroit and dexterity have their roots in words meaning ārightā or āon the right side.ā
And not content with looking up just the definition, I also had a look at some synonyms for gauche:
Awkward, clumsy, maladroit, inept, gaucheĀ mean not marked by ease (as of performance, movement, or social conduct).
AwkwardĀ is widely applicable and may suggest unhandiness, inconvenience, lack of muscular control, embarrassment, or lack of tact.
- periods ofĀ awkwardĀ silenceĀClumsy implies stiffness and heaviness and so may connote inflexibility, unwieldiness, or lack of ordinary skill.
- aĀ clumsyĀ mechanicĀMaladroit suggests a tendency to create awkward situations.
- aĀ maladroitĀ politicianĀInept often implies complete failure or inadequacy.
- a hopelesslyĀ ineptĀ defense attorneyĀGauche implies the effects of shyness, inexperience, or ill breeding.
- feltĀ gaucheĀ and unsophisticated at formal parties
Charming!
Latin for ārightā is dexter, which is the root of the word dextrous, with all its lovely connotations to skill, deftness and efficiency. And as Merriam Webster has just told us, sinister is altogether rather less positive.
We worked with a school group on a job at a Roman fort this year, and you might remember this post about it. To our delight, the children had arrived chanting āsinister, dexter, sinister, dexterā as they marched onto the site, clearly already in the mindset of the Roman soldiers they were due to be trained up as.
āLook!ā I nudged Jim. āMost of them have mixed up their left and right!ā. Handedness often corresponds to footedness, and the majority of the children, despite knowing their chant would start with āsinisterā, had set off right-foot forwards, because that was their starting foot by default. Programmed, you see. I enjoyed noticing the minority with their feet the correct way round.
āOhā, said right-handed Jim. āI hadnāt noticedā.
Left is for loser - or at least it is in my case
In our everyday activities we donāt generally have to think about our handedness: we favour our dominant side automatically. Itās instinctive.
Itās for that reason that Iāll never forget the first time my friends and I discovered that gesture for āLOSERā. Yup, that one.
But hereās what I looked like:
Yup. A loser.
We can, do, and sometimes shouldnāt all categorise ourselves and each other into any number of subsets, and those subsets can identify us as unique, or as parts ā or not ā of a community. Bias is everywhere, be it physical, cultural, racial, sexual, financial or any combination of those things and very many others. Reader, I identify as being part of the left-handed subset of the population. And yes, sometimes Iām even a loser ā but I might just get around that next time by switching off my left-handed autopilot in time to make the right gesture.
I quietly enjoy my minority awkwardness. And whether or not it makes me awkward, clumsy, inept, in-bred, gauche or just plain sinister, left is still absolutely the right way round for me.
Love,
Rebecca
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If youāve been following my correspondence with my fellow Substacker Terry Freedman youāll know that itās my turn to reply to him on Wednesday! You can find his latest letter to me here, and links to our entire canon of letters here. Do have a read of our light-hearted exchanges about British life over our shoulders!
Thank you for reading! If you enjoy āDear Reader, Iām lostā, please share and subscribe for free.
When I started writing about getting lost I couldnāt find an individual word already out there in the wild to describe myself. I stole a chunk of ādisorientatedā to do the job, and I think it works.
Sixth form is the final two (non-compulsory) years of secondary school here in UK. Sixth-formers are 16-18 years old.
Although I didnāt end up teaching children, I am qualified to teach in the adult education sector.
Of course, many of the best people are left handed. Forgive me for cherry-picking my favourites, but here are some:
Bill Clinton and Barack Obama ā former US presidents
Winston Churchill and David Cameron ā former UK prime ministers
The Prince of Wales and his great-grandmother, the Queen Mother ā members of the British royal family
(George VI is reputed to have been left-handed, but he was made by his father, George V, to change to writing with his right hand. This is a scandal in itself, and I gather this is something that my father-in-lawās teachers tried to force him to do. He remained resolutely left-handed, but that experience at school had certainly left its mark.)
Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Lewis Carroll, Joan of Arc, Bill Bryson, Paul McCartney, Marilyn Monroe and Tom Cruise were or are all left-handed, as are the fictional Bart Simpson and his real-life creator Matt Groening. So was Chewbacca the Wookie.
I very much enjoyed this, thank you Rebecca. Although I am not mostly neuro-typical, I have many quirks that mean I rarely process things like the majority. Sometimes it's good, mostly it slows me down. I still can't tell right from left without having to do a convoluted exercise in my head, going through my mother tongue first, then English, knowing that my default position is almost always getting left and right the other way round. The writing hand method doesn't help anymore, I type-badly, but still-with both hands, thinking I'm going to trick myself by quickly going against my instinct, well, even that doesn't work flawlessly...But I used to work with youngsters with many varied neuro-diverse needs, and it allowed me to appreciate how very badly equipped we are as a society, to support them (also how fantastic their creative skills could be.) I particularly love that you are doing your bit š
Also, I thought I was quite organised in one thing, and only that one, but seeing your fridge list, I clearly have so much to learn!!
I really enjoyed this re-read Rebecca. It reminded me of my granddad - he was born left handed but was forced to write with the right hand . Iām so grateful we live in a world where we donāt have to physically stifle our differences like that anymore !