E58 Transcript
Given that the holidays are over and we are now firmly entrenched in ‘normal time’ again - I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what happens when your routine gets broken.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not because anything went wrong.
Just… when the rhythm that usually holds your work in place loosens a little.
Like around the holidays, and when life just gets busy.
You’re not quite in your studio flow.
You’re not doing things the way you usually do it.
It’s that time when your days feel a little rearranged.
What I’ve noticed — and this is probably no surprise to any of us — is that it’s often in those moments that confidence starts to wobble.
Not completely collapse, but just – sort of -drift.
And then, just as quietly, when you step back into the work — really back into it — something else returns too.
In this episode, we’re going to think out loud about what all breaks when routine breaks…
and what comes back to life when you return.
We’re just creeping into the new year, and our days are somewhat returning to normal. I’m not sure whether that is a good or bad thing for you, but for me it has been a remarkable observational period.
One of the first things I noticed when my routine shifted back was how much of my confidence had been living inside the repetition.
When you do something regularly — when your hands are used to the sequence, the tools, the decisions — there’s a steadiness that comes from that.
You don’t question every move.
You don’t overthink every step.
You just do the work.
And when that rhythm gets interrupted — by travel, by fatigue, by happenstance, by life — you don’t immediately notice what’s missing.
It eventually comes in sideways.
In hesitation.
In second-guessing.
In that familiar internal voice that asks, Can I still do this? Am I any good?
Not because your skill is gone — but because you’re no longer in contact with it every day.
I saw this most clearly while I was rebuilding the beginning. Let me explain that.
I was working on curriculum for sewing classes — returning to fundamentals, thinking about how to introduce skills in a way that feels grounding instead of overwhelming.
I had to pretend to be a beginner again so I could ‘remember’ what that was like and what foundational ideas needed to be in play for a beginner just learning what a machine was all about.
And as I mapped out those early steps, something unexpected happened.
I could feel how at home I am there. But I also was deeply moved by just how far back I had to dig.
With the stitching.
With the order of operations.
With the intuitive logic of how skills build upon themselves.
I actually had to back into the making process and go step by step backward until I arrived at the beginning.
I discovered that what comes naturally to me now, is a far cry from what I could do at the beginning. There’s something very instructional, almost archeological, about following your own path backward until you find the starting point.
This often meant going back to the machine and following my steps from start to finish. Picking up a project and documenting what I did and how I did it.
It wasn’t flashy and It wasn’t performative.
But it was unmistakable.
That was the moment I thought, Oh. I’m back and I’m capable.
Not back to a schedule. But back to the work and back into a place where I belong.
Not only where I belong, but how I belong, and how much I have grown in skill and scope over the years.
What struck me afterward was how unnecessary the self-doubt suddenly felt.
The questions hadn’t been solved through reassurance.
Nobody told me I was good enough.
They were answered through contact.
Through doing the thing again.
Through being close enough to the work that judgment didn’t have to announce itself — it just showed up.
I think this is something we forget when we’re out of routine.
We assume confidence comes from clarity.
Or planning.
Or thinking our way back in.
And there is a small grain of truth to that. It certainly helps the start if you have clarity.
But more often, confidence is cemented into place through use. Through action.
The proof of our ability, or desire, or creativity, is in the making.
Being back in the studio has also changed how I see my own creative direction.
I’ve felt a strong pull toward making again — not in a vague way, but very specifically.
Toward fiber work.
Toward mixed media with fabric and stitch.
Toward allowing stitching to be expressive, not just functional.
And what’s interesting is that this clarity didn’t come from deciding. I didn’t work out a spreadsheet, list the pros and cons, or take votes from close allies.
It came from proximity. Being with the fabric. With the room and the tools, and the bags of stuff.
It came from being around learners, and other sewists.
From watching enthusiasm surface when something finally clicks.
From seeing skill in motion — theirs and mine — without comparison.
In particular, while helping brand new sewing students, I notice my intense gratitude for what I am able to do and how their eyes lit up when something finally made sense! I remember those days, those AHA moments. That’s why I still want to learn more skills and techniques. That’s what I want to feel when I discover another way to manipulate fabric, or a new medium to mix with it, or way to design on its surface.
That kind of environment doesn’t inflate ego. It inflates creativity.
It restores perspective.
You remember what’s possible when you stay with the work long enough.
Now to be sure – it’s not all roses!
There’s also friction in this return — and that matters too.
Fatigue shows up.
Time feels tighter.
Tools aren’t always ideal.
But it’s not all bad.
I’ve come to see that friction as information rather than obstruction.
You rarely give yourself credit for skill when everything is perfect. Afterall, you naturally sail through anything that you are good at doing and enjoy.
Skill shows up in how you respond.
In how you adjust.
In how you keep going without forcing.
Case in point, the fancy pants Pfaff 5.0 machine that has been donated to the guild for sewing class. There is no way I can set a beginning student on that machine. The intimidation alone may turn them off from sewing straight away.
However, the underlying story is me – my confidence and skill level on that machine. Truth is – I have no idea how to operate it – YET.
That’s the operative word. YET.
That’s where judgment lives.
Not in planning ahead — but in responding well.
I will slowly learn that machine SO THAT – I can pass that knowledge and skill on. Am I getting paid to learn a new machine. No. But do I want to learn it. Absolutely YES.
And why? Because it will make me a better sewist. There will be things I might like to explore further inside that machine and there is nothing I love more than a new tool.
Plus, I find responding to friction with curiosity always, without fail, leads to better outcomes.
Now, I’d be lying if I denied being just a little bit competitive as well. I am most competitive with myself and I love a challenge. So WHEN I master that machine, I will give myself a huge pat on the back and there will be one more thing I can pass along in that classroom.
Which leads to the fact that, somewhere in all of this, ambition came back too.
Not the obnoxious or theatrical kind.
But the steady kind that says, Yes — I can take this further. I have what it takes.
I noticed the internal shift before I could name it. As with any new venture – like building a class – you have doubts at first. But I quickly went From I don’t know what to do next
to I do — and I’ll know it when I’m there.
Being back in the work makes ambition feel clean again.
Not the pressured kind.
Just the present kind. The ‘I’d like to build this further’ kind.
If you’ve been feeling a little distant from your work lately — not stuck exactly, just unsure — I don’t think that always means something needs to be fixed.
Sometimes it just means you’ve been away from the table.
From the material.
From the part of the work where your hands already know what to do.
Breaking routine is sometimes unavoidable. And knowing it can disrupt your confidence is helpful to remember when it happens.
But returning — really returning — restores it quietly, decisively.
Not because everything is suddenly clear…
but because you’re back in contact with the thing that teaches you as you go.
Sometimes the most important question isn’t what’s next.
It’s what comes back to life when I re-enter the work.
So that’s what I want you to sit with today. And it might be what January is all about. Slowly, gently, easing back into a routine (new or old) that suits how you want to grow creatively.
And that will allow you to return to a state of confident memory.
Until next time — keep listening for what shows up when you’re back inside the making. Pay attention to how things start to get easier, and a little more reliable with the work.
