Hunny, you only have two hands
I was, as a recent college graduate living in the most expensive city in the country might be doing (and what I can only describe as) everything… all at once, the best I could (which was bad). Nonprofit hours through the week. Refugee advocacy and documentary work on the weekends. A commute that ate whatever time was left and cost me more than my stipend nonprofit provided. Serving and bartending shifts to pay rent. I was burnt out, running on fumes, and still absolutely determined to fix every. broken. system. I could see (which, in San Francisco, California… there are a lot of systems at play).
After several months of barely making rent, I knew I couldn’t survive like this. Upon my sister’s suggestion, I moved in with her in Boston and I spiraled: was my degree ever going to help me achieve the impact I hoped to make? I was bartending at a burlesque bar in Cambridge, sleeping in my sister’s office, trying to figure out who I was when nobody was assigning me a role. I had always been a “Yes” girl, the classic middle child, a people-pleaser with a savior complex and a work ethic that frequently wrote checks my body simply couldn't cash.
I tell you this because somewhere along this journey, my Ukrainian manager at the burlesque bar, Svitlana, saw me in all my chaos– sprinting between six customers, organizing four drink tickets, and running food from the kitchen. She stepped in between me and the customers, and began taking orders. With two shakers in her hands, someone ordered another drink, and she looked to me before she responded:
“Sure thing hunny, I’ll be right with you. I only have two hands!”
She winked at me, and continued to pour 4 Hoochie Coochies with perfect garnish. They laughed nonchalantly, and waited for her to return with patience. Like nothing happened.
I had worked years in nonprofit development and activism spaces, served as a bartender, waiter and hostess, played Division 1 volleyball, and in a surprise to no one, believed deeply that my worth was determined by my productivity. I had always believed (for some odd reason) that my two hands were supposed to be super hands that changed the world.. How dare I only have two hands?
Or… wait, how dare I punish myself for only having two hands? Am I not human?
The contradiction changed my perspective entirely, and in an instant.
It’s true: we only have two hands. That's it. We are just people, like everyone else. You simply cannot out-hustle your own humanity. You cannot work your way out of a human body that needs rest, a stomach that needs food and a nervous system that needs joy.
On the other hand, though (yes, pun intended) … Do you know what two hands can actually do? One person, willing to do the unglamorous work — the cold-call, the spreadsheet, the protest sign, the awkward ask, whatever it is — with the right tools and the right people around them? History is mostly made by people who only had two hands and used them to the best of their ability. Two hands can change the world.
Both things are true: You are extremely limited, AND you are more powerful than you can imagine.Life is full of contradictions and caveats, and so are we. And THIS is what the Joy Resistance Network is for. We are
A hand, when your hands are full.
A friend, when you feel alone.
A drink, when you’re pouring from an empty cup.
A laugh, when you want to cry.
A movement, when you feel stuck.
Joy is not what resistance looks like. Joy is what resistance runs on, and we run further together.
