What’s right about my left brain?
I came from a home with a genius in residence. As Beethoven played, it was admirable to discuss and THINK about others’ creativity, but spontaneity was thwarted. Stargazing, gardening, and reading, reading, reading, especially (shudder) scary sci-fi stories were the closest we were allowed to the edge of the corpus callosum bridging our strict left brain lives to that strange world of originality on the right.
While I was by night in my secret dreams, a rebel, fighting against the encroaching unjust empire, in real life I was a “good girl” who lived up to every left-brain expectation made of me. I was a terrific speller, understood the finer points of grammar and sentence structure or science and as time went by chose trigonometry over choir. (Yuk!) My first job after graduation was as a competent and well-paid assistant bookkeeper in the main office of a large credit agency.
It all sounds good, except I would periodically need sick days to prevent permanent melt-down. This did nothing to allay my preconceived notion that genius was to be feared as a door to insanity. Every day for forty-two years, I was an exhausted butterfly with wet wings straining to break free of my cocoon. I couldn’t even put this in words. I only knew something wasn’t right. It turns out the something was my brain, and left-brain living was not right for me.
What’s left of my right brain?
Once I identified the problem, I tried to use both sides equally. My husband and daughter do this without effort. For me, not so much. If I rose to giddy creative heights, I'd strain to function in foreign left brain territory until one day I accepted who God made me to be.
Now, at fifty-five, I flutter about my colorful day singing, serving up new and delectable dishes for my husband, dabbling at homemaking, and creating people, places, and crises on paper or computer, which I then solve.
I’m having a blast and I haven’t needed a mental health day in years. I am learning to live out-of-the box. Plus, I have a plethora of survival stories from which to draw. This leaves me in the position to write, write, write. Ahhhh! Home, Sweet Right-brained Home. The only thing finer would be a book contract.
The caveat to this new brain-style is I can no longer spell correctly, my grammar is atrocious, and as Rachael Phillips can testify, I can’t add or subtract anything over $5.00. I can live with that.
Are you right- or left-brained? One isn't superior, but how do you reconcile differences between the two? Do you have special exercises to move from one to the other? Does the time of day make a difference? Inquiring minds want to know
I came from a home with a genius in residence. As Beethoven played, it was admirable to discuss and THINK about others’ creativity, but spontaneity was thwarted. Stargazing, gardening, and reading, reading, reading, especially (shudder) scary sci-fi stories were the closest we were allowed to the edge of the corpus callosum bridging our strict left brain lives to that strange world of originality on the right.
While I was by night in my secret dreams, a rebel, fighting against the encroaching unjust empire, in real life I was a “good girl” who lived up to every left-brain expectation made of me. I was a terrific speller, understood the finer points of grammar and sentence structure or science and as time went by chose trigonometry over choir. (Yuk!) My first job after graduation was as a competent and well-paid assistant bookkeeper in the main office of a large credit agency.
It all sounds good, except I would periodically need sick days to prevent permanent melt-down. This did nothing to allay my preconceived notion that genius was to be feared as a door to insanity. Every day for forty-two years, I was an exhausted butterfly with wet wings straining to break free of my cocoon. I couldn’t even put this in words. I only knew something wasn’t right. It turns out the something was my brain, and left-brain living was not right for me.
What’s left of my right brain?
Once I identified the problem, I tried to use both sides equally. My husband and daughter do this without effort. For me, not so much. If I rose to giddy creative heights, I'd strain to function in foreign left brain territory until one day I accepted who God made me to be.
Now, at fifty-five, I flutter about my colorful day singing, serving up new and delectable dishes for my husband, dabbling at homemaking, and creating people, places, and crises on paper or computer, which I then solve.
I’m having a blast and I haven’t needed a mental health day in years. I am learning to live out-of-the box. Plus, I have a plethora of survival stories from which to draw. This leaves me in the position to write, write, write. Ahhhh! Home, Sweet Right-brained Home. The only thing finer would be a book contract.
The caveat to this new brain-style is I can no longer spell correctly, my grammar is atrocious, and as Rachael Phillips can testify, I can’t add or subtract anything over $5.00. I can live with that.
Are you right- or left-brained? One isn't superior, but how do you reconcile differences between the two? Do you have special exercises to move from one to the other? Does the time of day make a difference? Inquiring minds want to know
