Last night, I was trying to bring some semblance of organization to my out of control stash when I began to feel like I couldn't breathe. My chest began to feel kind of tight, and I had this uncomfortable lump in my throat. It was a panicky kind of feeling, like I was suffocating. And then it hit me, I was suffocating. Not physically, of course, but metaphorically.
Everywhere I looked, there were piles of disappointment. Miscellaneous hats and scarves; finished designs from patterns that underperformed. Numerous baby hats and booties; an years-old business venture. A dozen more hats; "just in case" that retail store actually places an order. Several useless f.o.'s and re-wound yarn barfs. An entire storage bin full of beautiful cowls; from a "curated" craft show that was overhyped and underattended.
And let's not forget the yarn. So. Much. Yarn. Taking up too much space, and too much oxygen. The damn thing is, every skein in my stash was purchased with joy and good intentions. They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Last night, I was in wooly Hell.
There I stood, surrounded by an exquisite selection of natural yarns, unable to take a deep breath. Feeling suffocated by the pressure to design, produce, and sell. Suddenly the excesses of my life began to catch up with me and I realized that, despite all the yarn, I'm not happy. Knitting doesn't feel joyful anymore. I don't feel creative, or inspired, or happy. That has to change.
I design modern, wearable hand-knits from decadent natural fibres. Also:
My spirit animal is a sheep.
My primary knitting fuel is vanilla-hazelnut coffee.
& My inner child is actually an inner senior-citizen :)