© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 97
I did something to my hand a couple of nights ago. Judging by the location of the pain, I must have stretched out and knocked the nerve or tendon on the top of my hand. It was probably the corner of the bedside table that got in the way. Judging by the pain, I am glad I was asleep when it happened.
I am very attached to that hand, and not just by bone, skin, muscle and sinew. It is the hand with which I write. It is also the hand with which I operate the mouse. It is a very important and precious hand. There are parts of my body I can imagine doing without, but my hand, like my left eye and both my ears, doesn’t feature on the list.
Fortunately, it is back to some semblance of normality now, and I can write this column without wincing, and somewhat faster than the two words per minute I was pecking out earlier.
There are a lot of things I take for granted, and obviously my hand is one of them. I though of giving it a reward, but can’t figure out what sort of a special treat you give to a hand. I don’t like gloves, a manicure feels wrong, and given the amount of pain that my hand and I have just survived, a tattoo seems entirely out of the question.
Apparently, that which does not kill us makes us stronger. My hand is definitely not stronger yet. In fact, I still can’t open a sealed bottle. But it has made me smarter. I know I have another limitation.
It seems to me that we live in a haze, without knowing ourselves. We travel through life looking neither left or right, nor backwards or forwards. Only when we are deprived of something or something incredible happens do we actually shake off our torpor and begin to question and evaluate. And then, after a while, the sensation fades and we settle back into our comfortable ruts.
I have no problem with a rut. It’s the things that pass me by that are troublesome. Hindsight may be twenty-twenty. That doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the sort of scene you want to look back upon and admire.
I am reminded of the story an acquaintance told me, of his father and a friend who went to a casino to gamble. At a certain point, the machine on which they were sharing their coins started flashing and making strange noises. Fearing that they had done something wrong and would be accused of fraud, they left the casino in a hurry. Later on they found out that the noises and flashing lights would have made them millionaires if they had stayed a bit longer.
Ambition, anger, fear, relaxed complacency; all of these things submerge us. And wrapped up in our emotional blankets, it is hard to make out what we are really seeing and feeling. Anything that disturbs the blanket is seen as a threat, not an opportunity.
But a good life is made of opportunities, not of threats, even if the opportunity is only to learn to open a can of dog food with one hand. How is opening a can of dog food with one hand an opportunity? It showed me that there was yet another thing I could do, that I never thought possible. I felt good when I managed to get it open, albeit slightly better after a handful of aspirins for the pain.
A small thing like a sore hand may seem trivial, compared to the challenges surmounted by people with greater, more permanent disabilities, but it was a big thing to me. In fact, in a sudden fit of tactlessness and stupidity, I am even considering a self-help book based on the idea that hitting the top of your hand with a hammer may be a path to self enlightenment and greater spirituality. But I probably won’t write the book, and I strongly urge you not to act upon the suggestion.
Instead, sit back and try to figure what sort of an automaton you have become. Try and look at yourself through the eyes of others, and through the eyes of the younger person that you might once have been. Did your ideals and ambitions materialize? What are the programmes and routines that command you? Then go out and drink too much.
There is a lot to be learned from not being yourself. It’s just a question of choosing how to find out.
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