What’s Your Hand Flourish?

I got my haircut from an old man named Young off the main drag in Venice Beach. 

I could only understand every second word he said through a thick accent, but his cheer and buoyancy could be understood no matter what language you spoke. 

He worked fast, grabbing my hair and cutting it quickly, grabbing and cutting, grabbing and cutting. Each time he cut, closing the scissors on another pinch of hair, his hand flourished. It reminded of a pianist–a real pianist, you know, that strikes down on the keys and lets his hand bounce up. 

Young had been cutting hair seven days a week for twenty-one years at his shop in Venice Beach. The posters on the wall looked about that old too. I was mesmerized by the way his hand flourished after each cut. Such practice. Such skill. Such confidence. 

It made me think. What’s my hand flourish? Cutting hair is hardly an art form that benefits from performance, but Young did it anyway. What’s my hand flourish? 

I realized that the computer keyboard is my piano. Just like the scissors are Young’s piano. It’s not sexy, but this is my art, dammit! This is what I’m doing with my time, my life. I’m and ad guy, a creative guy, a writer guy. So why can’t I have a hand flourish?

When I realized this, I made a couple purchases. I got a wireless keyboard and a monitor that puts me in a better posture to write. I got a few amenities for the office. Nothing expensive. Nothing special. But just enough. 

What’s your hand flourish?