What’s in hand?
As a child, I loved salted licorice. I frequently pestered my mother to get me some (although I don’t recall how well I succeeded – or failed). When I was around five years old, she gave me some coins and pointed me at the store.
“Go in there and buy it yourself,” she said.
“I don’t beg,” I countered, and refused to enter the store to engage the clerk in a perfectly normal transaction.
Ok, I was pretty young… But at certain times I come back to that traumatic (for me) event (I didn’t get the licorice). Whatever my mother said to me to convince me to enter the store didn’t help.
Now, decades later: I still love salted licorice; I still have some money (for now, anyway); …and it seems I’m still confused about what’s in my hand (about what it is I have to offer).
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Glycyrrhiza glabra
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