Weird fact about me: I’m cross-dominant (also known as being mixed-handed). Instead of having a dominant hand I use everything with, my hands are… Awkward. There are some tasks which my left hand excels at, and some tasks which my right hand excels at. And I can’t know until I try it.

Oh so you’re ambidextrous?

This is the question I’m asked every time I bring it up, but no.

Ambidextrous people have (mostly) equal ability with both hands, whereas cross-dominant people’s abilities are tied to differing hands; if I write with my right hand and use a hammer with my left, I’d end up with a Cy Twombly and some bent nails.

What does it mean to you?

It’s hard to tell what it means to me. The reality is that anything requiring strength & stability is done by my right hand, whereas¹ my left hand is dedicated to more… Fiddly tasks? Writing, drawing, typing on a phone.

As far as I’m aware the only difference between my hands is that my left thumb has more range, and that my right fingers are a little clunkier. But despite that, my right hand is suited for most tasks.

Cross-dominance also means that if I was stuck in a SAW trap where I had to sacrifice a hand in order to escape, I’d die before I choose which hand to keep.

Cross-dominance sucks

We live in a world where our handedness is a key trait, even if its importance dithers outside of school and sport. When asked about handedness, cross-dominance is overlooked; either from people simply not knowing, or it’s ignored due to it being a hindrance more than anything.

And it is a hindrance. For every new task or tool, I have to spend time faffing with both hands to figure out what works, and with the lack of rigor built up in either hand, often nothing feels right at all.

Here’s an example. In my final year of primary school we had a residential trip at an adventure park. One of the events was archery, and we were given 3 shots each. I asked the teenager on less than minimum wage archery safety officer about my wonky hands and if I could have a trial with each hand to check – he just smiled and said to pull the string with the hand I write with, so I did.

The first 2 arrows fell off-course immediately. Something was obviously wrong, so I switched hands. The next arrow soared and clipped the edge of the target. I got a passive “well the other two would’ve hit” and was promptly shuffled on. Cross-dominance ruined what would’ve been an amazing day.²

Writing with your left hand sucks

Okay this is a tad specific, but it’s worth bringing up:

• I don’t blissfully glide the pen with a gentle pull. I have to push it. Depending on the pen³ it results in stilted, scribbly lines.
• If I keep my hand straight I can’t see where I’m writing, so I have to pull my hand back like a claw to write. It’s not always comfortable.
• Instant smudging. Fountain pens are out, whiteboards are impossible.
• If you’re somewhere with tethered pens at a desk, they’re always tethered to the right.

Cross-dominance is neat

Despite everything I said above, I don’t think it’s fair to say being cross-dominant is terrible. And as little of a recourse as it is, I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t cross-dominant. It’s one of those little quirks that makes me who I am.

I’d say there’s a decent advantage: If one of my hands is buggered, I still have a set list of tasks I can easily do with the other.

Why are you Cross-dominant?

This is somehow a question I’ve been asked before. I’m not a biologist, but I guess it’s like most other quirks we have, it’s some weird attempt at an advantage – or my brain had a crossed wire during development.

Looking at how my right hand prefers strength-based tasks, it’s probably that my brain wanted me to be right-handed, but some fluke lead to my left hand being delegated certain tasks to protect my right hand; like some weird back-up in case of harm or overuse.

… Or maybe the first time I picked up a pencil was with my left hand. Who knows. 🤷

Phones

A good writer can effortlessly bridge different topics together. I’m not a good writer.

Using a phone one-handed is cool as hell. Walking down the street with one hand in your pocket, the other gliding over a phone? Sick.

Now look at people who use them with both hands. How obtuse they are, hunched over, hands awkwardly clasping and clawing at their phone. Abhorrent freaks. It’s wrong. And the worst part? I’m now one of them.

You know what spurred this blog post on? Pain. In the little finger on my left hand. For over a decade I used a smartphone one-handed by propping it up on my little finger. A practice I’ve had to stop since replacing my Pixel 4a with something bulkier.⁴

Yes, as we’ve ushered in a new era of larger, heavier phones, I’ve been forced to rely on a second hand to consistently use it. While my newer phone is possible to use one-handed, it’s still a pain for a key reason: comfortable thumb range.

Yes, I can still manoeuvre the position of my phone in my fingers to reach, but it’s at the cost of potentially losing my grip. And yes this whole thing is a first world problem and a half.

Phone apps

This is the point where the rest of this blog post spirals out and ends abruptly, like an intricate rug with a loose thread.

I’m not a phone UI genius. If anything, I’m sorry for those who have to deal with the million ways phones differ and try to accommodate them all. But with that said, it sucks how many app UI elements are now in uncomfortable to reach areas as phones get larger.

And it’s not just apps, core functionality is affected too. The notification bar is way out of reach, and phones are that wide that they now have options to shrink the on-screen keyboard for one-handed use. It’s pretty crazy.

I don’t really have much to add. I like the thought of using a pie menu-centric way of navigating apps so that I can continue to use my phone one-handed, but it’s probably unfeasible. I know Android has an accessibility option to shrink the screen, but that only applies vertically. And if I increased the zoom scale, I’d still have to reach at the edge of my phone.