I’ve started sewing. And writing again. I’m doing both with little baby steps and hoping that my interest, opportunity and life will let me get a little better at all of it.
In all honesty, I have no idea what I’m doing here. Optimistically I have hopes that by sewing a little bit and then a little bit more and then even a little more, I will get better at it. I will figure things out. I might even acquire some hard-earned expertise. But a very pragmatic part of my brain pipes up around this point to say that then again, I might not improve. This might be as good as it gets. I might be a bumbler at the sewing machine for a Very Long Time to come.
And against all the Type A odds my personality would naturally pit against this observation, I’m okay with that. I love making things and right now, sewing is the thing that gets all my mental gears humming and whirring. I like writing. I love reading sewing blogs and maybe if I poke around over here in my little corner, I can join the conversation a little. Maybe that will even help! At any rate, despite the real possibility that I will never be as good at sewing as I would like, as either of my grandmothers were, or as good as any of the bloggers I read, I’m still doing this.
Coming soon: the story of my first wadder. (I feel like such an insider using that term. But the actual thing itself did not make me feel like an insider. It made me feel stupid and furious and at one point, *exactly* like my poor frustrated 2yo when he throws a tantrum because he cannot do something he really wants to do.)
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