I’ve always done everything with my right side, not my left. With these exercises, I’m now consciously trying to engage my left side more. It’s an exciting journey of discovery into the interconnectedness of the two halves of my body.

Most people have a preferred side—they write with their right or left hand. They have a stronger and a weaker leg.

My eyes aren’t both working equally well either; usually, only my right eye is doing the work.

The left side can see, too, but most of the time it doesn’t want to. Or it sees, but the information isn’t processed further in the brain—I know everything that has to do with perspectives, though; I’ve learned it.

I can design rooms, I can throw balls, and I can even play ping-pong. I understand perspective and distance, but I don’t really see them.

Because of this anomaly in my visual system, I find it particularly interesting to consciously engage my weaker side during training—for example, by crossing my hands the other way when in the basic side-lying position or during the high tower exercise.

If the instruction is, “To the side of your choice…,” then I’ll deliberately turn to the left, even though I generally find it easier to move to the right.

In my daily life, I’ve gotten into the habit of consciously doing things with my left hand. I stir the spoon in the pan with my left hand. I still find brushing my teeth with my left hand challenging. Shoveling or weeding in the garden with my left hand is going pretty well.

Now I’m also practicing getting up from the floor by pushing off with my left knee, which has osteoarthritis. I’ve been taking it easy on my left knee for 40 years.

It takes a lot of effort to get the joint out of its habitual protective posture. That’s why I’ve resumed an old exercise from physical therapy: starting from a standing position, lower one knee at a time into a half-squat, then rise back up with the same knee leading, switch sides, and repeat the whole sequence as quickly as possible and for as long as possible.

It’s very tiring—but it helps the left knee practice the lower-leg position.

In the CANTIENICA® method, we generally avoid the word “kneel” because the mere thought of it causes pain for many people. My knee, too, is quite happy with linguistic detours—it likes to be challenged in a somewhat roundabout way.

Now there’s this transitional phase where you suddenly aren’t quite sure which side was actually the weaker one.

This has already happened with my hands. I catch myself intuitively crossing my arms over my chest during the pelvic wave—and then immediately uncrossing them again, because I’m no longer sure whether I started with my stronger or weaker side.

At some point, my body forgot which side of my hands was weaker. It doesn’t happen as quickly with the lower-leg stand—but even there, I can feel a change. My left knee is playing a more active role in my daily life.

I’ve even started hopping on my left leg sometimes when scrambling on mountain hikes. The more I use it, the stronger and more flexible it becomes.

I’m still not quite sure about the eyes—but then again, not everything has to be perfect right away.

The CANTIENICA® method is a journey, and I have time. One thing at a time. I’m happy about everything that’s slowly but surely getting better. And with everything that takes a little longer, I try to be patient and forgiving.