Wave more, flip off less

Everybody in the world saw and lis­tened to the recent dis­gust­ing dis­play of attack “diplo­ma­cy” in the Oval Office, when the pres­i­dent of a vul­ner­a­ble, sov­er­eign nation was rebuked by our president.

As emblem­at­ic of dis­dain as the words that flew from our side were the fin­ger wags, as if our pres­i­dent was scold­ing a pup­py that had soiled the liv­ing room rug. That “tell” made me reflect upon the ways we use our hands: the ugly and the beautiful.

Salutes can be rev­er­en­tial or con­tro­ver­sial. A salute at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier has more human grav­i­tas than a hand thrown into the air in defi­ance on a polit­i­cal podi­um. Hands have the pow­er to inspire or inflame. We should embrace the former.

We usu­al­ly do. I think about Carvel and Ashley’s hands in the mud on a wheel at Dirty South Pottery, shap­ing some­thing beau­ti­ful and use­ful to delight our days. In my mind’s eye, I see the banged-up knuck­les of Philip and Greg, our tal­ent­ed con­trac­tors for more than a decade, who pulled old sheetrock off the walls of our house, cut and laid ceram­ic tile, or lift­ed a nail gun to the ceil­ing to sta­ple crown mold­ing. Those are the kind of indus­tri­ous ges­tures that move us for­ward, not back.

We need hands in prayer now more than ever. Prayer hands are so ubiq­ui­tous we take them for grant­ed. They even have their own emoji. 🙏🏿

Regardless of your reli­gion, whether you turn your palms up to the heav­ens, down in a bow, or side­ways to touch your Tallit to a Torah scroll, your hands sig­nal thought­ful solem­ni­ty that brings you clos­er to life’s meaning.

We should shake more than punch, grasp more than push away. A hand can hold a gun or a broom. We have too many guns and not enough brooms.

I lived in Carson City, Nevada, in the 1970’s. There was a man there named Ed Carlson who earned the moniker “The Waver.” Every day for more than 20 years, Ed walked Highway 395 between Reno and Carson City, smil­ing ear-to-ear and wav­ing at motorists. Seeing Ed always made you smile. Most peo­ple waved back. His small ges­ture pro­ject­ed big humanity.

Waving is con­ta­gious. It is a uni­ver­sal call for help as well as a sin­cere good­bye. I think of peo­ple on rooftops dur­ing Kentucky floods or kids at bus stops on the first day of school. It is impos­si­ble to resist a wave, whether send­ing a heli­copter or wav­ing back at depart­ing students.

I hope we can wave more and “flip off” less, make our lives more cel­e­bra­to­ry and less angry, even when lead­ers mod­el men­dac­i­ty. Small, thought­ful ges­tures help. Convulsive, respon­sive explo­sions of the fin­ger in a traf­fic snarl, not so much. We should be more mudra than mad. The ancients fig­ured out thou­sands of years ago that hold­ing your hands in pre­scribed ways can open up con­scious­ness. We’ve all seen the Lotus Mudra. Try it. It feels good.

Keeping our hands mov­ing keeps us hap­py. I pre­fer more cow­bell to less key­board, although these days my mind seems to think bet­ter on the lap­top than in cur­sive scrawl. Remember Ben Franklin’s admo­ni­tion, “Idle hands are the devil’s play­things,” and use your hands for good. I talked to a sur­geon friend this week who com­plained of wrist pain from con­stant twists and turns in the oper­at­ing room. How ded­i­cat­ed one must be to accept per­son­al dis­com­fort to heal oth­ers. We are sur­round­ed by such gifts. We should repay them.

Hands com­mu­ni­cate, make things, hold, feed, feel, pass, receive, and some­times fum­ble. When peo­ple do fal­ter, we should open our hands to lift them up instead of self-approv­ing­ly point­ing out their frailties.