Don’t make assumptions about my cursive

The loops, swishes and dots carry a deep meaning that’s far from careless

Putting pen to paper has always relieved the pressure in my mind and heart. I keep an almost-daily journal and the act of picking it up, nestling it on my knee at just the right angle, hovering the tip of the pen over the intended starting place and seeing the content hit the page as it begins to reveal itself one letter at a time gives me a comfort like no other.

Unless it’s a Wednesday. It’s always hard to say how my W will turn out as I wander into that day’s entry. Capital Ws have never been my strong suit. However, mind my Ts and Fs because my Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays stand out for their flourishing capital tops and half-sailboat bottoms. Mondays are amazing as my Ms are magnificent and both days of the weekend start off like a swish of smooth jazz as the S forms the first note of many the page will sing.

The first note is always strong and clear but I struggle with neatness as the pen moves over the page, spinning out of control in a way that looks out of tune. Many people have sung a common refrain when commenting on my handwriting, comparing it to that of a doctor, as in, important content but not so legible.

My dad, on the other hand, had the most beautiful handwriting. His name was William and his Ws were wonderful. I have many samples of his perfect penpersonship: the letters he sent us from a short stint or two in jail in the ’60s; “The Nothing Book,” a gimmicky journal he filled in the ’70s while traversing Scotland, Ireland and Wales with my mom; the notes saying, “Never send money through the mail,” tucked into envelopes filled with my $8 “allowance” sent to me in the ’80s at Western; and a few cards and letters he wrote to me before he died, leaving me without his well-written words, in the ’90s.

No matter the time or place, my dad’s handwriting said, “I am a neat and put-together guy. I am calm and steady, despite the circumstances. Don’t worry, be happy. Press on!” And he always did.

My handwriting, on the other hand, says, “I’m in a hurry, get out of my way! I must release these thoughts before I explode so damn the torpedoes and forget the teachertalk in your head reminding you to stay in the lines and stop your carelessness. Run words, run!”

At least that’s what I thought my handwriting said. It turns out, when analyzed by a graphologist, I judge myself too harshly and incorrectly.

“Your script overall is extremely quick, reflecting your quick mind and your equal desire for quick results, actions and ideas. Your crescent-shaped i-dots indicate your sharp mental perceptions.”

Sharp mental perceptions. I like that. Thanks to Elaine Charal, a graphologist billed on her website as “Canada’s Busiest Speaker and Entertainer,” I have more insight into my sloppy scribing. I met Elaine when I delivered LGBTQ+ Positive Space training at a team building day last year for Ontario’s Municipal Social Service Association, in Wellington County. (OMSSA may need a lot more team building delivering social services under this new government, but that’s another column.)

Elaine can tell people about their human nature and skill set with just one sentence like, “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” She emailed her analysis to me, which I read regularly as a reminder of the gifts beneath my careless cursive. Tell us more, Elaine.

“Your many joined t-bars to the next letter, together with your beautiful figure-eight g’s indicate your fluidity of mind: this enhances your communication ability and allows you to ‘flow’ verbally around problems and objections, similar to the way water flows around a rock.”

May my writing this week be similar to the way water flows around a rock. It’s been five years since Renée and I said “I do,” and I bought a blank card by mistake. I need to write “Happy Anniversary,” and my Hs are horrible.