Today I finished the patchwork face of my rakusu. I am amazed that I have come this far – it actually looks the way it is supposed to look, which is nothing short of a miracle, given my past history with sewing.
I missed the last two weeks of sewing group, first because our teacher Connie was out of town, and then because I was home tending to my little dog Houla. At our last session before that break, I was “ahead” – keeping pace with one other student, I was farthest along on the project.
But the missed time meant that now I am more in the middle of the pack, with three people significantly deeper into the sewing. While I was concentrating on my final vertical seams on the front piece this afternoon, I was overhearing the instructions they were receiving on the next steps, and I often glanced in their direction to see what was in my near future. They were marking and cutting the frame, pinning and sewing the frame, measuring the white fabric that will lie on the reverse side.
Two things happened: one, I didn’t like being “behind.” As much as I knew it was silly, as much as I know this is not a race, I love being “ahead.” That’s a very, very old habit, and one which is definitely in need of revision, so it’s probably excellent practice for me to lag behind. In fact, I should stay behind for the rest of the classes, just to work on sitting with that uncomfortable feeling.
The second thing was this – I began to stew and fret about the future steps. They looked hard; I didn’t fully comprehend what others were doing. It seemed like I would not be able to execute the tasks when it came time.
What’s comical about this is that when I was “ahead,” I wasn’t worried at all. Because I had absolutely no idea what was coming next, I had no reason to worry about it. I simply did the very simple tasks Connie set before me, one at a time. Now, suddenly, because I am aware of the progression of the building of the rakusu, I am starting to stiffen up with fear and feelings of inadequacy. I’m looking five steps ahead and thinking, “I can’t do that!”
What a great metaphor for staying in the moment! When there was no future, I had no worry, and I was completely competent, with “beginner’s mind” fully intact. As soon as a future appeared, I began to fret, and “expert mind” took over, leaving me feeling absolutely stymied.
A young friend of mine, age eleven, has been learning for the last several years to deal with obsessive compulsive disorder. She calls the two voices in her head “Bossy Brain” and “Worry Brain.” “Bossy Brain” tells her to do things, like wash her hands over and over again, or turn on all the lights in the house. “Worry Brain” is the voice of anxiety, creating tension over imagined negative outcomes of things that are off in the future. When she feels herself succumbing to one of these voices, she talks to herself: “Now, that’s just ‘Worry Brain.’ Summer camp will probably be really fun. I’m not going to listen to you, ‘Worry Brain.'”
Today, I realized, I was sewing with “Worry Brain.” As soon as those words came into my head, I laughed to myself. Ah, I recognize you! I gave “Worry Brain” a little talking to, quietly coaxed “beginner’s mind” to come up out of hiding, and got back to work.
So goes the sewing. Life lessons with every stitch.