The Wealth of Slowing Down

Clarity is an odd and fleeting thing.

It’s the reason I often go months without posting. I have that spark of clarity, that five minutes of knowing exactly what I want to say, and if I don’t—or worse, can’t—take action in those precious moments, it’s gone. It comes when I’m driving, when I’m working, and in the middle of the night.

It stays long enough to leave an impression I can move forward with, but it doesn’t always leave its words. So this time I tried to write it down for later, and now it’s later.

What if we slow down?

We’re makers. We make. It’s what we do. But what if we didn’t feel like we had to constantly be finishing things and starting new ones? What if savoring a project for six months, or even a year, wasn’t something we looked at with judgment and guilt? We keep having these conversations about how the making, learning, enjoyment, etc. are the reasons we do this, but are we listening to our own advice?

For most of this year, I've been on a mission to "finish all the things," and I still am, but I noticed a theme. In the spring and summer, I kept making plans to sprint through finishing WIPs, and then when the deadline came I'd kick myself for not getting it all done. Guess what? That feels bad, and it doesn't make me want to work on the projects. I'm still whittling down my projects, but now I'm looking at it from a different perspective.

I'll work on what I feel called to, because this season of my life is about savoring the process. Earlier this year, for weeks, all I wanted to do was spin. Anything else I picked up wasn't doing it for me, and forcing myself to work on other projects didn't result in any kind of joy. When the spinning flap was over, it was replaced by weaving for several weeks. Now, I haven't touched the pink scarf on the big loom for a month, and all I've wanted to do lately is crochet squares and spin. 

It.
    All.
        Comes.
                Back. 

Here's the thing. I'm not making anything for anyone else, so why should I create meaningless deadlines? I craft because I enjoy the process. I write because I enjoy writing and sharing my thoughts, so why don't I place my focus where I want to spend my time? That's exactly what I intend to do from here. I'm not in a hurry about anything, and that's incredibly freeing.

I started out this year talking about writing and making, and then a temporary lapse in employment brought me back to streaming in May. While I don't regret coming back to Twitch, and I had a great time being in front of the camera again this summer, I do regret that I wasn't honest with myself or my audience about how unsustainable streaming would be once I went back to working full-time. Frankly, I can't do it, and I don't want to.

The difference is that I no longer feel guilty about that. I don't love how wishy-washy I've been about this whole thing over the years, but I'm done allowing myself to feel bad about my priorities changing as my life changes. It all became abundantly clear over the past few weeks that my path forward is to revive my little corner of the internet, not on a social writing platform, and to continue making things that make my heart and hands happy. 

I don’t want to create "content." I want to bask the joy of making and writing. I want to take six months to finish a spindle spin because I’m paying attention to the feeling of the wool between my fingers. I want to knit sweaters that take as long as they take, and weave fabric that I may not use for months. 

I want to read books. Oh, goodness, the books! I love an audiobook, but I want to read books, on paper, with my eyes again! I want sitting down with a book to no longer feel like an unproductive waste of time.

Doesn't that hurt to think about? 

These thoughts come at a time when residents of the United States are losing access to the smorgasbord of wool breeds we’ve become accustomed to. I urge you to read Fossil Fibers’ blog post on this matter, as well as the Slate article from a couple weeks ago, and any other information you can get your hands/eyes/ears on. We don’t have a lot of domestic wool processing facilities, especially for combed top, and it shows. Much of the wool we grow here is shipped elsewhere for processing, and even if it were, we don’t have enough fleece sheep to meet the demand for wool in this country.

Things are about to get more expensive and more difficult to get (some already have), and that’s terrifying for the small businesses that supply us as fiber artists. I think it might even close the casket on some of the larger suppliers. Higher prices, fewer sales, less stock, and longer backorder waiting times do not a successful business make. 

I think we need to look at the warnings we’re seeing about the wool industry and ask ourselves if slowing down could make it less panic-inducing. We're not going to fix this ourselves, but we can continue to support businesses we care about when we can, even if their stock is far more limited. We can use those beautifully handcrafted supplies; we can talk about them; we can write about them; we can allow ourselves to feel joy in making. Don't just hoard your stash because you're afraid you'll never be able to get that special yarn or fiber again. Even if you can't, what good does it do to save the good china?

I have so much to say, and I’m so tired of not saying it, so welcome back.

I hope it's nicer and quieter here. I couldn't take the noise anymore. 

🌿-Liz