Leaping to the Other Side of the Brain


Kandinsky, Yellow-Red-Blue


My friend JR challenged me to a drawing competition the other day as we were catching up on Facetime. As we each prepared a doodle under the pressure of a one-minute timer, I noticed him beginning to get nervous. That’s when he made a disclaimer, that although he liked his sketch, he wasn’t an art major like me and therefore he wasn’t going to win. As soon as we each revealed our drawings, he would immediately declare his as the worst of the two and that’s when I began exploring an interesting thought. Inside, I really thought that some of his doodles took the lead. I admired the way he would interpret and approach each concept and how his mind worked so differently from mine. I thought to myself how I had never realized how creative he was. I’m talking about a business major who is incredibly organized with his thoughts, argues with facts and is very to the point. I had never seen him even attempt to draw a stick figure.

On some rounds, I almost felt a little insecure about my drawings, as his were so clever. But he didn’t believe me--much like my other friends had in the past during other drawing competitions. Each one had played out very similarly and I was always automatically declared the winner because friends who didn’t usually practice drawing wouldn’t believe that I thought theirs were better. One of these times a comment particularly caught my attention which was, “Well, at least I’m stronger in the other side of my brain.”


All of my life I’ve grown up with this concept that was placed upon me and my friends by a society that categorized me based on my strengths and weaknesses. This concept claims that there are two different types of people in the world which tells me that I am automatically bad at doing the types of things that those who differ from me are good at, and vise versa. This theory really interested me which