I had been feeling restless and on edge for a couple of weeks already. I was a little nervous to start a relatively complicated project, given that I didn’t want to end each evening in tears, with pin-pricked fingers and covered in thread.
But I found myself smiling through each of the steps involved in creating something by hand - cutting and ironing fabric, seeing the piece take shape, screwing up and having to figure out how to hide a mistake, hand-sewing trim, and finally choosing and attaching the perfect button. Making the second Taxi Tote in something like 3 evenings was testament to my need to have something to hold on to.
I’d call what I experienced crafter’s delight. Crafting for mental health sounds too stodgy; crafter’s high sounds, well, incongruous. What I felt was tinged with enchantment and glee. I was able to make an entire bag on my own. It was a manageable challenge, resulting in a deep sense of satisfaction.
My life, no more and no less than the life of anyone else, is just full of stuff I don’t know how to fix, sometimes seemingly insurmountable challenges. Just as it would be amazing to wave a magic wand and make things better, magic bag-making powers would be pretty neat. I could wave my magic bag wand all day. But, it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, or as delightful, as crouching in a vintage shop searching through a basket of buttons, driving all over town looking for unique fabric, or seeing my Taxi Totes hanging together in my home.