We zoomed with a couple who are trying to navigate some rough choices. She was unraveling the wool sweater she'd knitted, which didn't fit. Part of me was sad to see her cable stitches unspool, yet she was clear. It was worth the effort to retrieve the soft fiber rather than go to the store and pick up an acrylic substitute. 

 

Her husband is trying to perform well at work without abandoning his family. He is reevaluating the demands of his schedule, so that he can put them back in place more mindfully. Rather than being on autopilot, adding to an ever-increasing list of obligations, he wants to choose well. 

 

These are examples of the common need to take things apart before we can put them back together. It's messy. I am in the midst of reorganizing my sewing room, which entails pulling fabric and patterns off the shelves, tossing scraps and refolding yardage. I purposely chose a week when there would be no students. The chaos is not a congenial space in which to be creative. But my hope is that when I finish the ideas will flow like silk ribbons.

 

People too, need to fall apart. When the pieces lay in shambles at our feet, we can choose those parts that truly fit. It keeps us warm to be spun from innocence.