A few days ago, I ran screaming – in my head – from a quilting class. It all started last winter, when I signed up for three classes at my favorite quilting store. The first, on machine applique, was fun. I made a small wall hanging for my kitchen, three chickens cut from scraps of vintage-style fabric. But I needed help loading my heavy sewing machine into and out of my car, and onto the table at the store, where I noticed a couple of women using lightweight machines they bought “just for class and travel.”
It was obvious. I needed one of those, and the next day, Amazon delivered. I put in a few hours practicing with my new portable, because one of the class requirements is “a sewing machine you are familiar with using,” and god forbid I should look “unfamiliar” with my own machine. The next class, “binding basics,” was fun until one student’s hands were covered in blood – I’m not sure how that happened – and I nicked my ring finger on my rotary cutter blade. Otherwise, it was a good session with tips about “un-sewing” and cutting a bias binding and…okay, I won’t go on because this isn’t about sewing. It’s about quitting. Which I did in the middle of the third class: Paper Piecing Primer.
It seemed like a good idea last winter, when I envisioned myself happily sewing in my “spare” time. Or the time I would have if I didn’t keep signing up for things. Maybe the bloody binding class was a sign of how this would end. By the time paper piecing came up on my calendar, I didn’t want to go, but I’d already invested in the portable machine.
In case you don’t know, in paper piecing, you sew small bits of contrasting fabric to a piece of paper. Simple, right? All you do is “take piece #1 and lay it right side up on the wrong side of the paper piecing template paper. Then take piece #2 and lay it right side down over piece #1 such that when you sew, fold over and iron fabric #2, it will cover the space on the pattern labeled #2 when you hold it up against the light.” If you understand that, I bow before you. It’s a lot like origami, which I tried years ago. And quit.
Everybody in class got the hang of it, with few mistakes, but me. I needed the instructor to stand beside me and go over each step as I worked. Nearing tears, I took a break, got a cup of coffee, and went for a walk in the park, where I realized I was done with paper piecing. Forever. “It’s not you, it’s me,” I told the instructor, packing up my machine, travel iron and pad, fabrics, pins, rotary cutter and mat, rulers, seam ripper, binding clips and scissors. Quilting requires a lot of supplies, and there’s always a new tool on the market, many of them fun and labor-saving. Unlike this class.Besides paper piecing, I have quit knitting socks, swimming the breast stroke, and yoga headstands, all things that sounded good at the time but were just too hard. I’d rather go for long walks, swim the backstroke, do the corpse pose and sew table runners, totebags and placemats for my friends.
So no more fancy classes for me. Except for the one I signed up for next month on how to use my Instant Pot. What could possibly go wrong?
Tell me I’m not alone here. What have you tried to learn and quit before attaining mastery, with no regrets?
9 thoughts on “Quitting Time”
vweisfeld.com
I laughed all the way through this. My husband’s been cleaning the basement. Don’t ask about the Marie Kondo moments I had when I said, “OK, chuck them,” when he threw away two half-knitted sweaters (in a bag since 1969), my $600 custom-made, never put blades on, ice-dance boots. Ouch. It’s a valuable lesson in what economists call opportunity costs. I hung onto my multi-colored, multi-patterned origami paper, though. If I ever give someone a box of paperclips, it will make perfectly-sized gift wrap! Great post!!
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lindawis
Thanks, Vicki! I love the Marie Kondo stories popping up among my friends, and yours is the best. Especially love the origami gift wrap.
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lindawis
Thanks, Vicki! Marie Kondo has really started something, right? I would also keep the origami paper. 😉
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hehnlin
Your article gave me a good laugh because I have been there. I am now content with sewing pillow cases for the children in hospitals. I think quitting is just fine – it’s not like you never tried! I’ve gone a lifetime trying to find my niche, and am still looking!
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lindawis
Thanks, Linda! Sewing pillowcases sounds perfect. I think you hit on something important in your last sentence. Maybe our “niche” is right where we are. Wouldn’t that be nice?
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Cynthia Lea "Cindy" Louden
Loved it – thanks for giving me permission to quit – and I’m not a quitter – but I can’t swim, sew, cook, read maps, do crafts & the list goes in! Thanks for letting me laugh out loud w/your frustrations & say it’s ok to quit!👍🤗
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lindawis
You’re welcome, Cindy! Permission granted. 😉
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bsmiskoaolcom
Linda, I saved your piece and just read it, so that is the reason for the late reply. I needed time to sit and enjoy your writing, as I always do. I had a little different response than some of the others, I think because I come from a different place in my head. I finished reading with a deep admiration for your desire to create as well as try new things. It left me realizing that I often play it safe – only doing what I know I can complete – only trying what I am sure I will enjoy. I came away from your story feeling encouraged to try something I am less sure of, perhaps just so I can live in some small way “on the edge”, risking some time or energy or money on something I am not so sure about – just for the fun of it. Many years ago I solo parachuted from a plane at 3000 feet. Now that was risky! But it also made me feel more alive, more adventurous, and more in touch with my sense of courage than I had been in years. Your piece reminded me to think about trying something new, although, given my advanced age, I will probably keep my feet on the ground!
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lindawis
Thanks, Bobbi, for this thoughtful comment! I hope whatever you try brings you joy.
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