Ambidexterity

Jugglers place a high amount of emphasis on ambidextrous juggling. Asymmetrical patterns, say 3 balls in one hand, are fine, but only if you're able to juggle them on both sides. This is a strange idea in a way: if you have 3 balls, you can only do 3 in one hand from your left hand and your right hand at the same time. In fact, if you saw a guy performing, you wouldn't know if he could juggle an asymmetrical pattern both ways unless he emphasized that he could.

Our focus on ambidexterity (in the limited juggling sense of the word) results in a very balanced mix of valuing what a juggler can do and what he does do. If you can only do a 5-club half-shower to the left, there's no shame in performing it. And yet, if you could do it to the right, even if you don't put it into your routine, it'd be better. Ambidexterity would open up more possibilities for you.

I've carried that mentality into other parts of life, too. It bothers me that I can't comfortably eat a meal with the fork in my left hand. That reminds me of how in China everyone can use chopsticks with both hands, and they sometimes have a different grip depending on the hand. One night my Chinese mom and dad had a whole discussion about what each grip meant and when it was best to use their left hand to eat.

I tried to learn to write with my left hand, but it's hard. Andrew is left-handed, but since we grew up using the computer mouse on the right side, he can do both equally. Academically, too, I shy from specialization because I don't want to develop one skill at the expense of another. I make sure my foot imprints on my flip-flops match. I knew a guy who played tennis seriously, and his right forearm was muscular and his left was normal: disgusting.

Here is my picture of success in life:


That's right. Left hand brushes at night, right hand brushes in the morning. A perfectly symmetrical toothbrush when it's worn.