Hands-On
I purchased a new laptop computer a couple of months ago. It lacks the numeric keypad that my old laptop has. Others offered this feature but were priced much higher than the sale model I opted to buy.
I used the new laptop just once before concluding that the number row on the keyboard was a poor substitute for a numpad when performing some of the duties of my volunteer treasurer role. I read articles online about usb add-ons and learned there are two designs from which to choose. Some are like a typical computer keyboard with silicone layers below the keys. The one I selected is a mechanical device. Much like those on an old adding machine, the keys offer resistance and clicking and clacking when pressed. In this way, I can tell without looking at the screen whether I have entered a number.
Using this keypad is a source of more sensory pleasure than I could have imagined. I look forward to the occasions when I must prepare checks or enter journal entries so that I can plug it in.
I find that I have a similar response when using a wooden pencil and paper to make notes. The weight of the instrument in my hand, the smooth paint, the slight resistance and scratching sound of the graphite as I write engage my senses. These sensations are qualitatively different than those I experience when I use a pen.
This was the point in my original plan for this essay at which I was going to draw a parallel between using a mechanical keypad or a pencil and the type of work that one might characterize as hands-on. Most of the tasks that I undertook during my career as a city manager were not hands-on. This is typical of executives for whom information is the raw material of their craft. We share that information, giving direction and advice to those who produce a product or service.
On rare occasions executives might actually perform a service themselves. I have found such times to be a source of considerable satisfaction. Once, I assumed the responsibility for administering the property tax system for a few years. I prepared the tax roll, sent it to the printers, reconciled the receipts, and submitted check requests. Each of these elements had clear beginnings and endings. It was hands-on work, but it was not like using a mechanical numpad or a pencil. It was of a different character than the manual labor associated with use of those tools.
This essay, then, is a consideration of why using such tools is not like information work and is not like those endeavors that information workers would describe as hands-on.
For most of us, signals easily pass back and forth between our hands and our brains. It is one of the ways in which the sense of touch is carried out and how our hands are willed to accomplish tasks. As that process takes place in specific endeavors, a strong linkage occurs that we refer to as muscle memory. But is there more going on than that? Is there something inherently human about the hand-brain connection?
Our relationship to our hands is evident in our language. Something close and convenient is at hand. An event that has turned troublesome is out of hand. We can rely on a skillful individual and know we are in good hands. One who is adept at a particular endeavor is handy.
I do not know enough about evolutionary biology to intelligently support the suggestion that our bipedalism freed our hands for more and more intricate tasks, leading to the development of specialized features of our brains. What seems obvious to me, however, is that many of us choose to engage in pursuits that require us to use our hands. In our leisure time we play golf and pickleball. We knit. We do woodworking. We refurbish classic cars. We garden. We paint. We play musical instruments.
Although we are told that idle hands are the devil's workshop, occupying our hands would seem to serve a purpose other than to prevent mischief-making. If we wish to keep our minds busy, we can listen to music or watch television. For many, though, those pursuits are accompanied by something that also involves the hands: snacking, crocheting, scrolling through social media, etc.
One of my leisure pursuits is reading. If I wished, I could accomplish this by purchasing audio books. I have on occasion borrowed ebooks, but I prefer the sensation of having a novel in my hands. I find pleasure in turning the pages.
Later today, I will prepare a meal for my family. I could use the food processor to chop the onion for the dish I will make, but I won't. I will use the knife and cutting board. I will repeat this step many days during the week even though there is an alternative that would prevent tears coming to my eyes.
Despite the relationship between our hands and our sense of being, some of us give in to the temptation to acquire labor-saving devices even for tasks that are similarly unchallenging. I prefer to be a member of the resistance in most such cases. I see no need to own an electric toothbrush, for example, and am happy to shave with a safety razor and soap. I do not need an electric spice mill when I have a mortar and pestle on the kitchen counter. I can grind my coffee beans manually.
I think that a part of being human is to be hands-on and not in the way I characterized it earlier in this essay. From the time we first discovered our hands as babies and learned to manipulate objects with them, we have defined ourselves in part through what we could accomplish with them. For much of our history as a species, we have depended on this capability to provide for ourselves.
Now, much of our work is done through the operation of mechanical and electronic devices. Our hand-brain connection has not caught up to a technological prowess that demands less of us physically. Consequently, those idle hands ask our brains to search elsewhere for additional sources of meaning and purpose.
Not all of our searching leads us to leisure pursuits like those I listed above. Some of us choose to serve food at homeless shelters. Others build ramps on the residences of persons with physical impairments. Still others bake cookies for PTO fundraisers. This is when being hands-on is the most human, as we yield to our natural inclination to use our hands for the benefit of the communities to which we belong.