I didn't intentionally stop writing. I got one of the dread viral infestations that have been running rampant this winter, and then it seems like my energy levels have been slow to recover.
Then I finished this cashmere shell.
Well, I was planning to finish it, but finishing is one of those love/hate situations. It always takes longer than anticipated, and I both love the detail of it, of finishing something nicely, but by the time I am at the finishing part, I just want the whole thing to be done so I can start something new. And I know better than to start a new project before I finish the old project, or the old project will simply languish in a pile because, well, knitting is more fun than finishing.
But this project was an exception. At least partly. It was seaming the sides that thrilled me beyond anticipation. These curved edges had worried me. Until I got started, and then I was captured by the magic of the curved side seam.
Who says a seam needs to be a certain thing. Who says a life needs to be a certain way? IT feels to me like the world is descending into chaos, and yet all I have control over is my own small life. That doesn't mean I don't care or that my actions don't have impact on those around me. But I am but a tiny droplet in an infinite pool. I cannot control the choices of others any more than they can control mine (unless I allow them that privilege). The simple truth is that as long as there are humans it appears there will be strife.
But as long as there are humans there will also be beauty, and kindness, and creativity. We can choose which parts of ourselves we feed.
For a while I wondered how I could write in this world. Then I realized my world is my own. And even these simple distractions are just as present, just as worthwhile, just as much a part of my own tiny puddle of existence.