Slow — What it Means to me Now


How I think about slowness, and about my life list of things I’d like to make, has changed pretty dramatically lately. I’ve been wanting to talk about it here, and Slow Fashion October has given me the perfect reason.

It started when I learned to spin. Then a little later, I realized how much I really could make, and how little I really needed. That feeling built, fed by the other things I was doing and reading, until the vast universe of possibilities suddenly felt expansive instead of overwhelming.


indigo handspunThis is apparently the only picture of my second batch of handspun before knitting.


You wouldn’t think that learning to spin would speed up my knitting, but it kind of did. The two batches of handspun I’ve made so far have gone pretty much straight to the needles, partly because I was so curious to see what I would learn by making something from my own yarn. So one thing was obvious from the start: I can spin all the yarn I need to knit with. In fact, if I spun even a little bit every day, I would end up with much more yarn than I usually consume.


tasha's quaker yarn stretcher 3It became a Quaker Yarn Stretcher Boomerang, a fantastic fit for the yarn.  I’ll post Details are now on Ravelry, but for now I want to focus on the thoughts.


I already have a pair of fingerless gloves, and a pair of dreamy mittens, and that’s really all my hands need. Between (ahem) making them and the ones my grandma wove, I’m approaching more fantastic scarves/shawls than I can actually wear. And then, I can’t imagine I need more than four good sweaters. Actually, my ideal would probably be three sweaters I absolutely love, and one to throw on when the going might get rough. Right now I have the rough one, a thrifted one I think is OK (but Bryan is not a fan of), and some other kind of makeshift stuff. But those got me through all last winter just fine. And my SFO goal is to re-finish one that will hopefully become one of the loved ones. I could make another one next winter or the winter after, and that would be more than fine. There’s actually plenty of time for me to find the perfect fleece, wash it, comb it, spin it …

So need, or maybe it would be more accurate to say lack of need, is a big part of this shift in my head. I find it incredibly helpful and freeing, and it goes something like this: if I already have most of what I really need for this winter, I’m free to spend my time making something really special (no matter how long it takes) or trying something new (ditto).

What I don’t know how to explain (in fact I’m not sure I’m explaining any of this very well) is why spinning in particular set me free from the desire to make all the things, but here I am. Of course, if I didn’t spin it would still be perfectly valid (maybe even more so) to say, “I have the capacity to make so much more than I will ever need.” In fact I think maybe every maker should say this, and see how they feel about it.

I know that time always seems short. I have struggled and struggled with that myself. But I’m coming closer to peace with it, and for me anyway, it doesn’t really have anything to do with productivity, with figuring out how much I can “fit” into a given time, how much I can accomplish or make. Ultimately, a good life isn’t about how much we do. It’s about what we do, what’s memorable, how we shape and enjoy our experiences.


tasha's quaker yarn stretcher 2


In theory when we decide to sew or knit something instead of buying it, we’re taking more time about it and being more thoughtful. But somehow pursuing a craft can also pull us into a spiral of wanting to make more and more, of making something just to finish it and go on to making something else, because we have so many ideas. Thinking about everything I’d like to make leaves me perpetually unsatisfied, as it always must, since I can think of about a dozen new ideas per day. Framing my making around what I need allows most of those ideas to pop up, get admired, and then just float away. Lovely though ideas are, they should not all be added to a perpetually growing list of things I “must” make.

Ironically, giving up on making all my ideas for the realms I usually work in (mainly clothing) may leave me time to take on things in my wildest crafting dreams. Try making shoes? How about a quilt from those passed-down handwoven scraps? Well if I’m content with what I have to wear for the moment, why the f#^k not?!


tasha's quaker yarn stretcher 4


I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all kinds of ideas around slowness. I listened to an interview with William Powers and I’m convinced I need to read his new book New Slow City. One thing he talks about is taking time to fully have an experience, just focusing on what you’re doing instead of already planning the next thing you’re going to do after it. I want to do craft like that. This week, I’ve been in the final stages of refinishing a treadle sewing machine cabinet, a project I have probably a months’ worth of total work hours sunk into. Just doing that, and thinking about nothing but that, running my hands over the velvety smooth wood and mulling over all the steps that got me there, it was so incredibly satisfying. Much more so than finishing four little projects and for each one just thinking “oh good, that’s done,” and moving on.

Letting go of a lot of my ideas does feel like somewhat of a surrender, but it feels like the kind when the heat of the day won’t let up, insects drone on, and finally there is nothing for it but to peel off whatever clothes are handy and throw yourself into the nearest body of cool water. Or the end of a long winter day, when nothing feels better than to pull warm cozy blankets all around you, and let your whole body relax.


tasha's quaker yarn stretcher


So here’s what slow fashion means to me right now: it means I will make just a few things at a time, and I will make them with my whole heart. It means I will allow ideas for things that I don’t need to float away, and concentrate on the projects that mean the most to me and those that will be the most useful. It means I will give myself space to enjoy the processes, the parts that bring me the most joy (like spinning) without worrying about what’s next on the list. And I think it will mean that the more I make in this slow way, the more I will wear my heart on the outside, all over my body.

Anybody else want in? The water’s fine …



21 thoughts on “Slow — What it Means to me Now

    • Thank you Barbara! Sometimes I get a little nervous about wearing things that mean so much to me—do I really want to express that much of who I am to anyone who looks at me? But more and more I think I do …

    • Thank you! Yes, in a way the slowness feels mellow, but also very deep—like a big river moving quietly. What I love about the mellow part is not worrying about how fast I am making or when things will be done.

  1. “This post is absolutely lovely. I’ve often been frustrated lately at how slow all of my crafting is, due to a lack of hands-free time with the baby, but reading your thoughts on it really does help me think that this will be ok. At least, once I have a functional wardrobe for my post-baby body.

    • Thanks Becky, it’s great to hear that it helped you! I do think it’s much easier to be relaxed about slow making now than it was a couple of years ago when I felt like there were huge holes in my wardrobe I needed to fill. Best of luck!

  2. What a lovely piece of writing, thinking and feeling this post is. Thank you for sharing. It reminds me of how I felt when I was traveling very recently. I had this overwhelming feeling that I needed to make my time count because it was my first time in that country. I had to reset my expectations several times, and still packed my days much fuller than needed for me to enjoy the trip. Much like sewing with one eye on the next project – which I do frequently – I wasn’t able to fully enjoy an experience when I knew I had to efficiently shift to the next. So, all that said, thank you for sharing your encouragement to focus on the “what” instead of the “how much”. 🙂

    • Thanks Morgan, that means a lot! Sewing with one eye on the next project is exactly what I’m trying not to do … it’s not easy! But I’m kind of tired of resetting my expectations, and I’d like to get to a place where I could just focus on the project I’m working on, and let the next one come when it does.

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  4. This post has truly spoken to my heart. I’ve been the ‘project person’ for so long (and I’m old!!!) so the result is wayyyy more than I want or can use (although I gift a lot of things!). Of all the things I’ve made over the years—-there are only a very few things that make my heart sing and that I want to keep. Being mindful at the production end is obviously the key here…. Now to try to put this in to practice!!!

    • Thank you! It’s very liberating for me, but at the same time, I still get floods of ideas … putting it into practice is going to be the interesting part!

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  11. I have just found your delightful self while looking for ‘how to block your knitting without special equipment’. This article resonates so well, and I was surprised to see it was written so long ago, because these days ‘slow’ is pretty much a day to day concept. I am on the wrong side of 70 and have recently discovered my old love for crocheting…..passing many happy hours every day as we are currently heading into our second month of full lockdown where I live. I am gradually learning to embrace the slow and be more mindful of where i am NOW, without thought of ‘what comes next’ in pretty much every aspect of my life. xo

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