Unco

Since dislocating my left shoulder, I have been confronted with how much my left hand plays in my identity. It is primarily responsible for:

1. Writing.
2. Drawing.
3. Cycling.
4. Basketball.

Take it out of the equation and suddenly I can do none of these things. Yet if you took the above list, any one of them more than anything I think or say is how I would identify myself - A writer, an artist, a cyclist, a basketball player.

Even cooking is fucking hard (the first right handed one-hand egg break, which sifted through my fingers was something that truly only I could eat.

I'll say this though, it's like being backed into a corner, and it forces you to reassess the fundamental assumptions that limit your movement. You have to look for a way over, under or through that corner.

I have to stop looking down on people so much, the amount of shit I still can do with my remaining, non preferred arm is immense - the learning curve of all knowledge in general is steep, but I'm a habitual underestimater of how quickly people can barrell up it when they need to.

All the thinking, anticipating and practice I do buys me very little advantage over the 'average' person in any given task.