The Power of My Hands

Physically, my hands aren’t strong. I struggle to pick up a penny with my left hand, and a therapist told me once my right hand is only half as strong as as the average eighteen year old.

When she initially told me, all I could think was that my parents were right: I had a lot of work to do. Once again, I felt as though my weaknesses had been brought to the forefront. But looking at it now, I can’t help but think that therapist was wrong.

My hands are the strongest part of my body. From them comes beauty in the form of prose and poetry; out of them pour my thoughts, my emotions, my fears, my dreams. They carry the key that fits the lock of my life. When I have a pen, anything is possible.

With a pen, I can create new worlds and bring ideas to life. I can bring people to tears and move their hearts in such a way that they feel compelled to put good into the world. I can create smiles, I can change someone’s day, I can form a connection between two people that otherwise never would have existed. Because of my writing, people have come into my life who mean the world to me and I’ve made memories I’ll cherish forever. Without the dynamic duo of my hands and my heart, my life experiences and the very person I am would be vastly different.

My hands might have physical weakness, but they are strong. They’re just strong in an unconventional way.