A wintering flow
A journey of wintering, and meeting my old self along the way.
My hands start to cramp. My eyes become heavy. The light, while necessary, makes me almost uncomfortably warm, despite the temperature outside. I count the spaces again, sigh, and realize I messed up more than 30 stitches ago. I calculate the error. Is it major or minor? Can I live with the mistake or should I undo it? I've been holding the needle and thread for hours, but I'm not ready to set it down. Resigned, I start to backtrack my stitches, knowing I need to undo them to move forward. This cross-stitch has been in progress for at least ten years; this is the first winter I see myself finally finishing it and a few extra minutes won't make that big of a difference.
In my twenties and early thirties, I made a lot of these for other people. Mostly for expecting families. My aunt made one with my birth information, and my parents always displayed it in their bedroom. It's where I came up with the idea of making them for my friends when they grew their families.
I never did a cross-stitch for myself. Not until this one. No wonder it's taken me ten years to see the finish line of it. Doing something for yourself is never a priority.
When I picked up this cross-stitch again, after at least a two-winter hiatus, I did it out of boredom. Spending so much time with Mom, as we wait for her upcoming surgery and recovery, had left me wanting to do more than just watch TV. I didn't realize it would become part of the theme of this winter.
I'm full in the throes of wintering.
I didn't set any New Year's resolutions. Aside from finally starting to use the waterpik my dentist suggested months ago. And even that didn't start on the first of the year; just when I was ready.
I'm not adding to my plate. I'm taking things off of it; officially stepping down as board president of Pride House, for example.
My days are not hectic. They are also not the same. There is a flow happening, but it's not what I would call routine either.
I'm not writing as much, which is perhaps the only thing that causes me tension during this wintering. And yet, I feel as if I'm writing all the time. I start essays in my head, even if they never make it to the page.
This essay is even coming out of a different process than normal; I'm typing it on my phone, between stitches.
This doesn't seem like this would be conducive to creating anything, but this is my wintering flow.
Stops and starts and moments of contentment.
And moments of clarity. Of trust.
Trust that the Alyson of the past, who started this cross-stitch way back when, was doing her best. That she also made mistakes, like the one I just made. But she did her best to resolve the issue or realized it wasn't important to fix.
When the younger Alyson picked this one to do, just for herself, she knew something. Was looking for something. It's a massive pattern; detailed and magical of a woodland enchantress. Her long flowing hair, light blue dress, and green and gold patterned cape draw you in. Then you notice her lighted staff and the snow coming off her fingers, trailing behind her. She's magic. She's winter.
Rarely looking at the image of what she will be, I often confuse what scene she's in. I have three other goddesses to stitch someday. The Alyson of yesterday was ambitious, believing her time and energy would get these done. The other patterns represent different seasons; distinct ones for fall and spring and one that I call summer just to round it out.
Winter was never my favorite season, and yet this is the pattern I started for myself so long ago. Maybe the old Alyson knew that someday she would find the peace that can come with winter. With wintering. Learning that it's okay not to be as active in the winter; that maybe we are meant to go inside and conserve energy as we wait for the spring, just like our animal cousins.
That it's okay to invest in ourselves. In the things that bring us joy.
Like this woodland enchantress who, one day, along with her three other goddesses, will adorn a wall in my house, reminding me of the importance of this investment in myself.
For now, I work in sections on the cross-stitch, and when I join two perfectly, it's a moment of joy as well.
Yes, she did know what she was doing! And I know what I'm doing well enough to line this up like it should.
It's a rather spectacular feeling. This feeling of meeting my old self and recognizing how far she's come.
How far I've come.
I adjust the hoop, stretching and tightening the fabric, creating a new canvas to work from, with old stitches ready to meet new ones.
My future self is going to be proud. This wintering is good for me.
I'm making progress.
Some housekeeping
Different platform, same content and delivery:
I've moved my platform from Substack, but you shouldn't experience anything differently. (I hope!) While this newsletter is still called Do Less, Better, it's evolving. Or, maybe expanding is the better word. I'm embracing the different facets of my life, especially in the sense that I am now farther away from my burnout, farther into my recovery, and my writing topics will be more varied. These topics will always be informed by my insistence on doing less with intention, even if it's not always evident.
Paid subscriptions live:
I also want to share that I'm inviting paid subscriptions, in honor of the one-year anniversary of this project (today!!). Several of you pledged through Substack to financially invest in me and my writing, which is humbling beyond measure. With the change of platforms, that pledge will not be automatically started, so if your mind or circumstances have changed, that is okay. I plan on keeping my content open and available, regardless of subscription status, so you will not miss out on anything. Your support will help with maintaining this new platform (it's not free like Substack), investing in my writing development, and generally cheering me on. ❤️
You can start a monthly ($5/month) or yearly ($50/year) paid subscription.
Everything should be set up correctly, but if you experience issues or have any questions, email me and we'll figure it out together!
Inconsistency will follow for a while:
Lots of ideas float in and out of my head on expanding my creative endeavors, including starting a podcast about eldercare. But, since I'm in the midst of giving that care, and Mom's surgery is on the immediate horizon, most of those ideas will stay ideas for the time being. And my writing will be sporadic. I'm still wintering, after all.
Thank you for being on this journey with me. See you soon.