I used to be creative.
No, really. I did!
You can ask my mom.
When I was younger I spent every moment I could painting, sculpting, cross stitching, beading, friendship bracelet making and potholder weaving. Then I discovered this other thing I loved called science, and art sort of went on the back burner. Fast forward through college, a short career as a wetland biologist, marriage, and three kids and that creative artist of my past has been all but buried. Since the birth of my twins in 2011 I’ve hardly even picked up a crayon except to color yet another spongebob portrait.
But a few months ago, I picked up my knitting needles and what they produced amazed me. A sock. A red, black, gray and pink striped sock that felt glorious on my feet. I rubbed them, stared at them and carried them around in my purse to show all my friends. “You’re all getting socks for Christmas,” I said.
Believe it or not, that sock made an impact. One friend said, “I’ve pinned at least 200 sock patterns. I’m going home and I’m going to make a sock!” And another, “I’ve always wanted to learn to knit. I’m going to JoAnn to buy some yarn right now.” We banded together. Formed a craft group. Banished our children to the playroom (except during the occasional snack/sleep/diaperchange/tantrum break) and began to create.
Over the course of a few months that intense desire to make stuff and to master skills slowly came back to me. So far, I’ve been a dabbler in many projects and have mastered exactly zero of the new skills I’ve tried. But I am having So. Much. Fun. And I want to share my triumphs and embarrassments and maybe inspire a few others to pick up their needles and make a one of a kind sock. Or maybe even a pair.