My mother’s creative outlet is sewing. Since I was a kid, she had a sewing room. Tirelessly clean and neat in the rest of the house, my mother merrily let chaos reign in her sewing room. Hundreds of random fabric leftovers were squeezed in a bookcase that covered an entire wall of the basement. Green calico with brown and pink flowers, red plaid with black stripes, blue taffeta, cream fake fur, pink fleece. Endless bits of satin and grow grain ribbons, lace, and brightly colored thread filled the drawers of her red, wooden desk. Every now and then, my mother would be overcome with a sense of industriousness that motivated her to keep the rest of the house in order and she would “straighten up” the sewing room. “I’m going to get in there and straighten up!” she would announce. “I can’t stand it anymore! I can’t even find what I’m looking for in there.” This announcement was made often and was frequently made weeks before the straightening occurred; the results of which never lasted for long.
I inherited my mother’s creative interest. As an adult, I don’t have a sewing room – consequence of urban living – I have a drawer. My creative drawer is stuffed with balls of yarn, crochet hooks, a needlepoint book, a needlepoint canvas of a cat with a bird sitting on it’s head, a cross-stitch Christmas stocking, and lots else. Going into my creative drawer is a release. It unties me from routine. Though sometimes, when I pull out a project, I feel guilty that I’m not working on pursuing a larger passion.
When I’m not working, I still feel like I need to be working. I’ve discovered that setting and sticking to goals for my work projects outside of work, such as this blog, allows me to enjoy my creative outlets guilt free.