These Hands

12 April 2024

When I was young — around 9 or 10 — I remember looking down at my hands during a church service in Pittsburgh. I stared at my palms and noticed the color of my skin, the shape of my fingers, the lines running up and down and side-to-side. At the time, I was probably bored. But that day has become a core memory. Since then, every so often I’ll pause and stare at my hands and think back to that day and about the time that has passed. It’s almost a meditation. I think about what these hands have done and how they look different with the passing of time.

I’m traveling to Southeast Asia now for a research trip associated with a small grant. I had a 14.5-hour flight from Dallas to Doha and took some of that time to stare at my hands. This year marks the 15-year annniversay of my first trip to Southeast Asia. Oh, how time has passed in glorious and unexpected ways. Outside my gate to Bali, which is the first stop on my trip, I see the same happy and excited 20-somethings with backpacks and sweatshirts that I once was. I’m now the greying professional on his laptop in a navy blazer. I’m still happy, though — never happier, actually — but I’m not that man anymore. I miss my family and home already. I’ve got bigger responsibilities awaiting me on this trip but feel less nervous or excited than I was as a 23-year-old landing in Thailand for the first time. I feel calm. Content. Hopeful. Every day with these hands has been a blessing.

Onward.