It’s an interesting question to ask and an equally intriguing one to answer.
The following is a speech I wrote for Toastmasters that I came across recently when cleaning out some files.
Reading through it put a smile on my face so I decided to share it with everyone, not just my Toastmaster friends, and I hope it puts a smile on your face too.
–⋅ o ♥ o ⋅–
I am many things to many people. From daughter, sister and cousin, to lover, mother, friend and foe. My Toastmaster friends have also known me as warmup master, topicsmaster, wordmaster, gruntmaster, quizmaster, or even jokemaster.
But what would you say if I told you this Toastmaster is also . . .
. . . a murderer?
But not all of me, just half of me. And well, not all of one half of me, just part of one half of me and it’s not a very big part of that one half of me, but it is a very important part, and it is all of that half of that part. (Phew!)
Ok, the part of me that is a murderer is my right brain. And I can prove it.
I did a survey on Facebook years ago, when I had time to be on Facebook, and we all know how everything on Facebook is true.
Anyway, a simple series of questions analysed which side of your brain was dominant because as a whole, the brain has two parts – the logical left and the creative right
For most people, one or the other dominates.
Leonardo da Vinci and Walt Disney are thought to be famous right-brain thinkers and, while Google wouldn’t provide me with a list of left-brain thinkers, I imagine Madam Curie and Steven Hawking fit into that group.
As it turns out I’m equal parts analytical and creative with neither side prevailing over the other.
The survey results declared:
“Your right and left hemisphere seem to have reached a level of perfect harmony.”[Some stupid survey on Fscebook]
Apparently they are in harmony.
But I know my creative brain hates my analytical brain and for the better part of 50 years (or more) it has tried it’s best to do away with my brilliant thinking factory.
I was flying through grade one. I was the teacher’s pet who could write her name, count her numbers and read her Dick and Dora book all – by – her – self.
And not to be outdone by this courageous infantile display of brilliance, my right brain conspired to break my left leg. Following six weeks at home covered in plaster, I fell from grace and my mother, who refused to have me repeat grade one, promptly moved me to another school the following year.
Several years later, once again, I was showing real promise, topping my class in maths and science, so my right brain did the only thing it could to survive.
It drew out the big guns and crippled me with migraine headaches, except . . .
. . . on those days when I had art class.
Those days I’d be bright eyed and bushy tailed, pain free, at least until art class was finished then queue the headache and the call for mum to come and collect me and my aching head.
By the time I reached year 12, I’d learnt to nourish my right brain, resourcefully balancing, or you might say modulating, both creative and academic pursuits.
I excelled at both home economics and biology and I can still drive a sewing machine and comprehend a quad helix.
Sometimes, both at the same time.
When I entered the workforce however, my right brain once again started killing me softly any time it thought I was getting a little too clever for my own boots.
Over the years, a broken toe, busted ribs and a bout shingles all arrived just in time to see me overlooked for those coverted, sort after promotions. And as recently as 2017, just as Dean and I were starting our own cleaning business, good old righty stepped in again and conspired to break my right arm.
Would you pay a cleaner who’s sporting a plaster cast? No! And other people wouldn’t either.
At least my creativity reigned supreme in the speech contest arena that year and my right brain is still bragging about being a District 69 Humorous Speech Champion.
So, I’ll ask again. Do you know who I am? Did you suspect I was a murderer?
Confirmed or convicted felon aside, it’s not as bad as it sounds.
I’ve learnt to accept that my right brain wants to dominate and my left brain, who declines to be overshadowed, also refuses to give up.
Perhaps this is why (or how) I manage to conceive and construct culinary kitchen creations.
In all honesty, I’m ok with this battle that rages inside me.
It keeps me thinking and it keeps on my toes and that’s a good thing because . . .
. . . I sincerely hope there never comes a day when my left brain contains nothing right, and my right brain has nothing left.