Sunday, March 20, 2016

We don't always finish

In a race, you have to cross the finish line to get your medal. When playing sports, you have to wait until the last inning, until the final buzzer, to realize the outcome. Crafting doesn't work that way.

Crafting is a process. And sometimes the purpose of the process isn't to finish. It isn't to walk away with something complete or whole. Sometimes the end-game is to learn something. And sometimes that something is about yourself. Your final score is that you are more complete. More whole. And the creative journey didn't need an end for you to get there.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Craft Definition: Craftastrophe

When is a mess more than just a mess? When you can't see what is holding it up anymore. When you're not sure if you're crafting on top of a card table or a pile of boxes. When the only thing keeping the supplies from creating a sparkly avalanche onto the floor is your crafty mojo. That's when you know you have a craftastrophe on your hands.

Like many natural disasters, you can't see a craftastrophe coming. In most cases, you don't know that a craftastrophe has occurred until you look up, and realize that you're in the middle of one. In fact, a passer-by is more likely to recognize you as the victim of a craftastrophe than you are.
But fear not. If you've found yourself in the aftermath of a craftastrophe, there is no need to call FEMA or the Red Cross. In most cases, you can choose to extract yourself when you deem the time is right. And although there may never be full recovery, in general, there are lots of beautiful things that are made in the process of forming a craftastrophe.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Mumble, mumble, misunderstanding.

I talk too fast, and too much, and too often. Sometimes I fill dead air with witty banter, and sometimes I fall short of the mark. It isn't my fault that I understand how demanding situations are. Howling at me to fill the void with something. Anything.
And when I acquiesce, when I relent to the insistent silence and say something... it is often the wrong thing. Somehow, with a dozen different phrases and facts running through my mind, I sink my teeth into the wrong one.
Do you know what happens when you've said absolutely the wrong thing at absolutely the worst time? Silence.
An onerous silence that insists on being filled. And when again I comply with the demands of the quiet, what I say is no longer my fault. Regardless of the words I choose, they will be misunderstood. Because I have to say them while speaking around the foot that I already have put in my mouth.