Embracing Failure and Letting Go

Sometimes, who we would like to be and who we authentically are don’t jive.  Sometimes, these two people can’t even be friends.    Last night, my two petty, jealous rivals came to a standoff.  It all went down at my sewing machine.

10 years ago, I bought my first sewing machine.  I was fresh off of my honeymoon and spending the summer living in Alaska.  I traveled to Anchorage with my two dogs to be with my husband who was on a 5 month assignment for work.  I was thrilled.  Having taken a leave of absence from my job, and found myself with nothing but time.  Being a newly wed, I decided to dive into the domestic.   I didn’t actually know how to sew.  But, being the creative type, I figured that I would catch on quickly.  As you may have guessed given the title of this post, I didn’t.

Looking back, I can see that I made many mistakes along the way.  I had no interest in taking a sewing class.  So, instead I bought books (ha, ha).   I also bought my sewing machine based on the way it looked rather then what I needed it to do as a novice.  So, my cute, vintage, singer machine and I spent many tense hours together.  I can’t remember what I actually created that summer.  I think that there were a few acceptable dog pillows that came out of it.  I certainly didn’t create the bedding or alter and repurpose clothing the way I had envisioned.  Mostly, I just felt defeated and frustrated.

I took a break from sewing for a year or so.  But after my daughter was born, I tried again.  This time I had visions of designing baby clothes.  I would save so much money and Amelia would have one of a kind dresses.  I had so many great designs in my head.  Again, this didn’t work out so well.  So, I took another break.

4 ½  years into my abusive relationship with my Singer (I was the abuser), I was convinced that the machine was the problem.  If sewing wasn’t coming naturally for me, it wasn’t my fault.  Impulsively, I went out and bought a new machine.  With it, I brought home the dreams (and fabric) for a new set of bedding for Amelia.  I owed her for 4 years of suffering without handmade dresses.  Many late nights, do-overs and tantrums later, I actually finished this project.  I felt validated.  I tried sewing clothes again.  It was a bust.  And so it went on like this for the next 4 years.

With 10 years of practice, I figured that a simple project like sewing a child’s busy bag for next weeks airplane venture would be a snap.  I had years ago learned my lesson about jumping in to a project too soon.  I carefully made a pattern, measured, ironed and set myself up for success.   The result:  a gigantic flop.

On the bright side of this 10 year struggle, I am now, finally at peace with my lack of skills.  For me, sewing represents a lot more then just a skill.  I think that women who sew are the epidome of domestica.  If you are an accomplished seamstress, give your self a pat on the back.  You are perfection.  I wanted a little of that for myself.  But, spending 20 hours and $40 on an Easter dress that Amelia can NEVER wear (peak-a-boo neckline) does not make me happy.  I would much rather spend my time and money shopping with her for the perfect dress.   I can’t make it.   There are many things on the domestic front that come naturally to me.  I am a terrible sewer.   I am not a sewer.  It just wasn’t meant to be.  There is a great freedom in letting go.

Have you ever tried to be good at something that just wasn't good for you?  Did you let it go, or are you still struggling?