Are you kidding? I’m not entirely certain that I’m still capable of running. And I have a love/hate relationship with scissors since I’ve been old enough to use them. The logical conclusion is that it’s unlikely I’d be seen running with scissors. You never know.
My uncomfortable relationship with shears is waning. In fact, I’m feeling downright hopeful about the improvement in my ability to wield a sharp object with far more precision. Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Oh, but it isn’t. My ability to cut paper, fabric, etc., has been a thorn in my side since nursery school.
If you’ve surmised that I’m left handed, you’re correct. A sports-minded kid, I grew up imitating my older brother and his friends. My mimicry earned me the ability to attempt all sports as a right-handed participant. Gross motor skills were/are the domain of my right hand. Fine motor skills such as writing, eating, cutting, toothbrushing, etc., are exclusive to my left hand. Don’t ask about tools because I never know until I approach one.
What happened to running with scissors? Here comes the connection. I was adept in gym class and looked forward to it. As one of the kids frequently chosen as “captain” of a team for gym class, it was not lost on me that for many of my classmates it was not a comfortable time for them. And as much as I wanted to win, I also didn’t want another girl to feel left out. Heck, it wasn’t hard enough going through puberty without throwing a thrice-weekly, horrible class into the mix?
Empathy has always been a huge part of me. I felt for those poor girls who hated gym class. My Achilles heel was art class. Dread is an understatement. I never chose to take an art class after 8th grade. Why put myself through it? Look, I was a good student. I took pride in earning decent grades. I will never get over receiving a “needs improvement” on my report card in kindergarten, never. And what was that grade for you may ask? Cutting.
Scissors were a weapon I dreaded. They caused me pain because they were meant for right-handed kids. When I used them, I received major indentations in my thumb and finger. The older I got, the more painful the task. When universal scissors debuted, I was in my 20s. It was delightful to wield a pair of scissors and actually make cuts instead of tearing everything.
The upshot of this is I ended up fearing participation in any sort of arts and crafts because I felt so inept. As I approached my 30s, a friend taught me to crochet. I liked it and was able to do it right handed. Feeling a bit adventurous, another friend taught to do counted cross stitch. That was a bit more difficult because I would do it either handed which resulted in a slight variation of how the stitches looked. I now do it left handed.
When I produce a creative product, people I know are often surprised. Whatever. If you could see what I’m attempting right now, your heads would explode. Writing is an important part of my life. I know how beneficial it is for my psyche. When I learned I could make my own handmade journal and it could be styled/decorated any way I desired, I wanted to give it a try.
As they say, I’m hooked. It’s fun. I enjoy it. I look forward to it. After watching many YouTube videos, I’m getting my feet wet with a few prototypes. I have a few in various stages of assembly. I’ve looked for a niche for decades. Have I found it? Too early to tell, but I’m hopeful.
A couple of my favorite cross-stitch projects. Cape Cod is a special place for me. The other is the beginning of my personal journal. As with many other things, I’m teaching myself as I go along. It’s also an experiment to see how it impacts my depression/anxiety. Hope is an encouraging concept.
“Then one day the sun appears/And we come through those lonely years.” Barry Manilow
“Take me to the magic of the moment/On a glory night…”. Scorpion
Stories Are For Eternity 