Thursday, February 25
There just aren't enough knitting action shots in the world.
But Carina just sent some. Here she is knitting in her very green back yard of which I am eternally jealous. She's wearing her Secret Lentil hand warmers and holding the glompod clutch which is stuffed full of yarn.
Over on my side of the country we're getting a big wet nonstop dump of snow today. Schools are closed, the trees are covered. I'm inside sipping hot chai but thinking about boots and shovels and getting to the studio.
I spent so many years trying to get out of things I didn't want to do - going to school, to other jobs - and just waiting waiting for a snow day or even a sick day to get out of the drudgery. But this morning I saw my niece's post on facebook - she was looking forward to talking about a novel in class and working on an art project but she's snowed in. Oh! I guess not everyone hated that, ha ha.
It's still new to me to like what I'm doing. To like it in the real deep way where I'm not even secretly hoping for the day off. Where I'm not showing up every day but inside the I Want To Quit clock is ticking and I know this gig won't last long. I think I'd like a snow day but then I sit here for a few minutes and my brain gets engaged with what needs to happen today - shipping, listing some new pieces, re-arranging the studio, maybe even sewing a bit - and I'm surprised that I'd rather find some socks and see if I can dig out and get there.
I'm building a theory about how the moment we have an imaginary endgame - pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, winning lottery ticket, prince on white horse, hoping someone pulls the fire alarm so we can stand out in the parking lot instead of working for 20 minutes, etc. - that as soon as we have switched to wishing we were somewhere else we lessen our ability to be engaged with what needs to happen right in front of us. We begin to wait for life instead of living it. No i didn't invent this idea. But the more I think about it the more I think those imaginary fairy tale distractions hurt us. They cause real immediate harm. I'd love to ramble about it more but I have to go to work. Want to go to work.
Monday, February 8
So I was relieved to come across a Joshua Wolf Shenk article in The Atlantic, about a man who studied happiness, that puts words to what I've been trying to say:
But why, he asked, do people tell psychologists they’d cross the street to avoid someone who had given them a compliment the previous day?
In fact, Vaillant went on, positive emotions make us more vulnerable than negative ones. One reason is that they’re future-oriented. Fear and sadness have immediate payoffs—protecting us from attack or attracting resources at times of distress. Gratitude and joy, over time, will yield better health and deeper connections—but in the short term actually put us at risk. That’s because, while negative emotions tend to be insulating, positive emotions expose us to the common elements of rejection and heartbreak.
Was that so hard to admit? Success makes us feel vulnerable. Am I not allowed to say this out loud?
Last month I made some clothes for Rosie O'Donnell. She almost wore something of mine on Oprah. She did wear one of my sweaters on Good Morning America.
I'll spare you the details of the freak-out I put myself through getting things made and delivered to her, then stalking whorish news-faux-tainment sites trying to get a glimpse of her. "Lift your arm! I can't see the sleeves! Lift your damn arm!"
But here's what came of it. First, even a brief stalking of one person online to see what they are or are not wearing gave me a lot of empathy for famous people. I wouldn't wish that much success on anyone.
And it gave me a fresh appreciation, as if I needed one, for how many times we can gawk at something to confirm that it did not happen. That is not my sweater on Oprah *clicks play* that is not my sweater on Oprah *clicks play* that is not my sweater on Oprah *clicks play* ... oh the sweet comfort of having dodged success ... by the time someone told me they saw her on Good Morning America, in my sweater, I didn't even flinch.
So really the biggest change in my life is that people have squealed at me more than my comfort level will allow. And hopefully I have one more happy customer who feels better moving through the world dressed in my clothes. That's really all I want for anyone who chooses my work.