Whenever a new colleague starts up in the office, I can usually expect to hear two general comments within the first week:
(1) "Can you turn your music down a little?"
and
(2) "Your handwriting is freakishly neat."
I've always been strangely proud of my handwriting. It might be the only aspect of my life in which the word "neat" could ever be applied. But it didn't happen by accident. I was bullied into it by my own brain.
When I was a kid, I used to beg to go to the library. Just being in that building made me feel smarter. I'd hit up the new sci-fi arrivals, grab any humor book I could find, and spend a ridiculous amount of time in the paranormal/pseudoscience stacks, convincing myself that ghosts were real, houses in Amityville were oozing blood, and two sticks in your hand could magically point you towards gold. Life was fun in those days.
It was during one of those trips to the nonsense corridor of the Dewey Decimal System that I first became entranced by graphology -- the science of handwriting analysis. I suppose "science" here needs to be in quotes, because graphology's scientific attributes are sketchy at best. Still, I'm a firm believer. I poured myself that particular glass of Kool-Aid in junior high, and I still drink from it today.
Graphology asserts that your handwriting is a window to your personality. Something as simple as a signature can paint your entire psychologicial profile.
Most of us learn to write from identical tutorials. But somewhere along the way, each of us develops a slightly different writing style. You can probably recognize the handwriting of your family, friends, and co-workers -- everyone's is unique. Graphology claims the uniqueness of our handwriting is a direct reflection of our unique personalities.
Some of it seems like common sense. If a person writes with harsh and bold pen strokes, it's a likely indicator that they're angry or aggressive. Conversely, shy and timid people tend to write smaller, tighter, and lighter. If you're hurried or a fast thinker, you might forget to dot your i's. If you're an extrovert, you might tend to sign your John Hancock like, well, John Hancock.
But graphology dives WAY deeper than that. If you buy into it, naturally funny people use more wavy horizontal lines in their writing. Imaginative people have more disconnected letters in their cursive flow. The more your handwriting slants to the right, the more emotional you are. There's supposedly a million different tells in a person's handwriting, from the way you cross your t's to the way you balance your pen strokes.
I consumed everything our library had on graphology and fancied myself a young expert. At school, I loved when we had to grade each other's papers -- I was more concerned with studying the penmanship of my fellow students. My handwriting analysis was often spot-on. The bully in our class had every tell-tale indicator of brutality in his writing style, the teacher's pet used large capital letters indicative of wild ambition, and the artsy kid used long flourishing loops.
Then there was that one kid who shall remain nameless. He was an unassuming guy who kept to himself. But I'll never forget the first time I saw his handwriting. Deformed letters, tall vertical loops, differential spacing between words, and a radical left-leaning slant to his script. Graphology left no doubt: he was psychotic. I sat next to that kid for years, convinced he was a lunatic, just waiting for him to snap. I have no idea what became of him. He might be a well-adjusted middle-aged man now. Or he might be the Zodiac Killer.
As for me? That was the biggest disappointment of all. I didn't hesitate to analyze my OWN handwriting, and discovered I was, by graphology standards, wholly unremarkable. My handwriting was average and boring. Yuck. So instead of trying to figure out what kind of person I was from my handwriting, I instead tried to change my handwriting to match the person I wanted to be: an artistic, creative free-thinker. Overnight, I started adding huge loops and swirls to my writing in hopes of spinning myself into a superstar.
Instead, it just looked silly. Out of frustration, I vowed then and there to stop writing in cursive altogether. My cursive may have been average and sloppy, but to my surprise, when I printed the words, they were super neat and tidy. Without me trying, I suddenly became The Guy With Freakishly Neat Handwriting, all because I was pouting over a book that told me I wasn't creative.
In today's digital age, we're losing the art of handwriting entirely. Some schools have even stopped teaching cursive altogether. Maybe one day, cursive will be a thing of the past, which also means we'll lose the art of studying that cursive to see if you're a homicidal maniac. Bad news for graphology fans, but I suppose good news for any aspiring psychopaths out there.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work. Yes, I'll turn my music down.
