I’ve put this off for years
There are a lot of stories I want to tell about my very first quilt.
The first and most to-the-point story is: I MADE MY FIRST QUILT AND I AM SO PROUD OF MYSELF!
Here I am after driving from Minnesota to Chicago to Traverse City, Michigan to St. Louis, MO and back to Minnesota with my finished quilt. What a journey!
The second story is: I let myself try to do something that meant a lot to me. I let myself risk the possibility of failing at something I wanted so badly.
When I told people I was driving to Michigan to take a class called “Quilt in a Weekend" the majority of people responded with, “Oh I didn’t know you were a quilter!”
To which I said: “I am not…but I want to be!”
To which most responded, visibly skeptical, something like: “Oh…ok…good luck…”
It got me thinking about why people assumed I’d only do a thing that I already knew how to do. Was inviting oneself to be a true beginner such a novel concept? Was there a line we crossed, a time in life, when we became more fearful of trying to learn something new?
If I’m honest, I’ve been putting off this particular dream of mine for years. First, because there’s a talented quilter in my family (my Mom) and that increased the pressure. More importantly though: I didn't start because I didn’t know if I would succeed.
I let the fear of being bad at it keep me from even trying. I realized that because the stakes felt higher – because I deeply wanted to be "a quilter" – it was not as easy for me to risk failure. This wasn't just something I wanted to do: it was someone I wanted to be.
This gives me an intimacy with a thing I witness in coaching all the time: the hesitancy to begin, change, or try something that is deeply desired. At surface level it might feel confusing: if you want to be or do differently, then you must take a first step into the unknown! But I get that sometimes the very things we long for can feel too risky to pursue; how holding ourselves back can be a form of protection. Coming into new parts of ourselves is vulnerable.
The second story about my quilt is very important to me because I can see my courage in choosing to finally leave the safe, familiar place where I didn't try and therefore didn't fail for the risky and ultimately creative space of giving quilting a try.
Here I am before driving back to MN with my quilt, in front of the home my parents have lived in for nearly 50 years (aka as “my childhood home”). They are getting ready to move out of this home. (Another beginning and ending for all of us.)
I often say in coaching that allowing yourself to try is a very important skill to grow. And now I’ve walked that talk and know these aren't empty words.
Trying is the beginning of everything.
What is possible when we claim our desire over our fear?
I know I want more of that in my life and less of the critical inner voices that keep me from taking a first, curious step.
I want my longing to lead me, not my doubt.
That special weekend I actually had multiple firsts. In addition to my first experience quilting, this was my first time using a sewing machine. And all of this happened because I took my first seriously long solo road trip. I'm proud of myself for all these firsts!
Finishing this quilt in almost a weekend (I did the final edge work with my Mom in the days afterward) actually feels like a triumph! Mostly because the class was very rushed – I would have benefited from having more time – and it's shocking I could create anything in such a fast-paced environment. But I did! And now I have a lap quilt that will always remind me of this experience.
Finishing the edges of the quilt with my mom.
A third story about my quilt: I let myself make my first, messy, wonky, very imperfect quilt with fabric that means a lot to me and that my Mom said I was “bold” for using when I didn't know what the hell I was doing. (Paraphrased, but the intention is captured I think.)
I let myself make a quilt with Marimekko fabric my Mom had securely packed away in the basement for 40+ years. She held onto it for that long because it was too precious to waste on just any project (her sentiment).
I let myself use this precious fabric for a very imperfect creation because I knew if I waited until I thought I was good enough, I would also keep this fabric sealed away for forty years.
I didn’t want to save something I loved for a future in which I’d “earned it.” I wanted to make my colorful, joyful, imperfect Marimekko quilt now.
When I left quilt class at the end of day one, I had only two squares sewed together. I’d changed design direction midday and ripped up my first quilt, which was weirdly liberating. Sunday morning, I hunkered down (i.e: I hogged a sewing machine and stopped socializing) and channeled all the Project Runway make it work energy I could, and by lunchtime I was finishing my patchwork.
After attaching the last row of squares, I hollered to my ten classmates, “I DID IT!! I MADE MY FIRST QUILT TOP!” They all cheered and excitedly told me to run outside so we could photograph the patchwork in the sunshine. (There also ended up being a slight breeze that matched our energy perfectly.) We laughed and exclaimed together, celebrating my first quilt achievement, and I felt the support of a community of beginners (most of us had never used a sewing machine before).
All weekend we celebrated each other and our first quirky quilts. We were united in our willingness to be beginners.
My patchwork in the Michigan breeze.
Not pictured: many new quilters cheering + taking photos.
Later I counted and – including the quilting and one edge I completed by the end of the class – I did over 35 passes on the sewing machine on Sunday. I went from never using a sewing machine to finding a creative flow and allowing it to guide me.
I was so focused on making a quilt in a weekend that it wasn’t until I left the workshop – with my mostly finished quilt – that I realized my fear disappeared the moment I entered the quilting studio on day one. My fear left and made room for aliveness, joy, play, creativity, wonder, laughter, community.
Showing up was the whole point.
Is there anything you are waiting for, holding yourself back from, or not allowing because of fear of failure? I urge you to take the first wobbly step forward.
Is there anything precious you are hoarding in a metaphorical or real basement for some future in which you’ve earned engaging with it? Engage with it now.
What would change if you let yourself try?
What if by trying you’ve already succeeded?
From L to R: Peaking out from my nearly finished quilt at the Traverse City co-op (I love co-ops!); me and my quilt in a bucolic setting near the western coast of Michigan; at Grocer's Daughter's Chocolate where I enjoyed a very delicious fudgsicle (far away from my quilt). Thank you to my traveling companion, Emily, for capturing these shots and hyping me up big time the whole weekend.
PS: Speaking of my photographer, there's another story that's worth telling but that I'm not telling (yet) about the life-giving experience of having a spontaneous adventure midlife with someone you had the most epic adventures with earlier in life. To my friend Emily with whom I farmed coffee and learned how to hitchhike on the Big Island of Hawaii, and who said YES to this adventure nearly two decades later: so much love and gratitude.
