I live in the Bay Area and I commute to school on the Bart three days a week. It’s my own little personal slice of hour long purgatory, but as of late I’ve noticed something about myself that I’m very fond of.
Given the fact that we are now at a technological peak no one is looking up and away from their phones. They don’t talk to each other or even take the hour long ride to sit and to just think. The commute is now a time to sit and to stuff even more fodder into our minds.
Since I started the new school year I have stopped taking my leisurely reading book and laptop with me to campus because it has been giving me back and neck pain. (I’m taking 5 classes and they all require me to take my books to class everyday.) So the only thing I have left to help ease my boredom is my music. I play it off of my phone and by the end of the commute its almost dead, so I try to conserve the battery.
The only thing I have left to look at on Bart, besides an unwanted view of all the standing butts, is my hands.
I’ve noticed as I’ve gotten older that my hands are beginning to look more and more like my mothers. Slender wrists with a palm and actual phalanges attached to them. Now, my fingers aren’t long and elegant but they do look like fingers, unlike my fathers side of the family where everyone has paws for hands.
I look at my hands and see my veins beginning to become darker and more visible as time goes on. They look like my mothers and grandmothers more and more every day. They’re becoming thinner, more boney, soft an leathery just as I remember my moms being.
To me it means that I’m doing something right. They’re calloused because I work, they’re strong because I don’t give wimpy handshakes, they’re wrinkled from all the writing I’ve done in my life, and they’re soft because of all the loving I have and have not encountered yet.
These hands have had a life and they continue to live one as I type this food for thought out for you guys right now.
What life have your hands lived, through yours’ or your families?