As I was scrolling through Facebook this afternoon, a headline caught my eye "How much love you put in the doing".
Intrigued, I read it and thoughts bubbled up - as they do.
First of all, I spent the morning talking to a group of high school students about weaving. I found it a real challenge because I didn't have a point of instant connection with them, like I do with weaving guild members. I had to find a way to connect them with my story, my passion, my love of textiles. With a 40+ year gap between us, I have no idea if any of them were the least bit intrigued, or stirred. If nothing else, I might have planted a seed. But that is impossible to judge.
After spending that time this morning and reading the headline and short article, plus a few other things going on in my life right at this minute, I started to think about my 40+ years of twiddling with string.
And just how much love there has been.
Oh it hasn't always been a bed of roses (and if it was, someone forgot to strip the thorns). There have been the usual ups and downs, road closures and detours. Successes and failures.
There have been things I have worked hard to achieve. There have been great gifts that were completely unexpected.
When I think about my life it is a tangled mess in so many ways. To try and find an end to that tangle seems impossible - even if I could, would I really want to?
I keep dancing around the concept of 'retirement'. Every time I think I have a plan, something happens to upend my expectations of what direction my life is going to go. This isn't new - it's the way my life has gone. I rather suspect it is the way most people's lives go.
A while ago I was asked to talk about being a professional/production weaver. By that point in my career/life there had been a number of changes in direction, but I'd always managed to find a route that kept me at the loom.
At the end of the presentation, one of the attendees came to talk to me and she mentioned that she admired how I had managed to stay on course, to re-imagine my life within weaving. While she had totally and completely changed direction, changed careers three times, I had re-imagined myself as a weaver. I think she found that puzzling, but also somehow inspiring. At least, that was the message I got from the way she framed her observations.
That first time I sat at a floor loom, shuttle in hand, I knew I had come 'home'. Wanting to maintain that sense of 'home', I just kept trying different things. Weaving different things. Just kept on, keeping on.
Because I love it.