Because I am learning to focus

I'm learning to focus on what I like to do, and (at least in terms of art/craft), I am going to start delegating the things I don't truly enjoy.

With some shame, I admit it: I don't really enjoy quilting. Well, to be more exact: it's the the quilting part of making a quilt that I don't like: you know, the part where you stitch the top, batting, and back, together. I love the feel of a finely quilted quilt, and I know lots of talented quilters, but I don't enjoy it enough to put in the time to do it well. There. I said it.

I do love making the quilt top. I seem to always come up with a plan for a quilt design, and I have many quilt tops in the works, but doing the actual quilting has been such a task that I've postponed finishing the pieces I've started.

This summer, in the middle of my frenzied organizing/cleaning/refreshing/repainting, I discovered a beautiful quilt I'd made for Ada with the many of the same fabrics from her baby quilt. Above is a photo of the baby quilt, which I did for her while I was waiting for her as a baby. During that waiting time, I had so much frenetic energy that I made dozens of projects for her room, including the twin-sized quilt I found in the armoire this summer. As I examined it again, I realize had made a good start on it, with putting the layers together, and beginning the quilting, but there was a lot of work left on it.

Ada found me with the newly-found and unfinished quilt, and looked at it with such longing. I wanted to finish it for her, but frankly, the idea of cramming it into my machine to try to quilt it left me feeling overwhelmed. Suddenly it came to me: There are people who do this sort of quilting professionally. What if I found someone to do this for me? And guess what?

Ada's quilt was finished by a lovely lady with a longarm machine and a talent for fixing my assembly boo-boos. Ada and I are both really pleased with it. Ada and I worked with Sharon to pick a design for the edges--Ada chose butterflies--and wow!

Now I'm ready to move on to piecing Esme's baby quilt, which has been on hold for, oh, about three years. My new friend Ms. Sharon will be doing the quilting part, and suddenly I feel the inspired energy to pick up that project right away. I think knowing I don't have to spin my wheels with the quilting has made me feel more free to enjoy the process of sewing the patchwork.

What's funny is that feeling okay with delegating is a huge deal for me. I'm a do-it-yourself kind of girl, and delegating runs counter to that. Or maybe not. Because--especially with artwork--if I can peel off a few things that I don't love or that take more time than reasonable--then I will have more time to do things with my husband and girls, and more time to make things and do things that really make my heart sing. With that in mind, I am going to embrace a little delegation so I can really enjoy the work in my hands as much as possible.

Too Many Cookies, Corduroy

The cuteness of the overweight bears belies the reality: I could lose a few. Like, a lot. It's not just because I'm modest that you don't see my photo on this blog. Now, don't go picturing some Simpson-esque character saying "I wash myself with a rag on a stick..." I'm not headed for an episode on the Discovery Health Channel just yet. But two (or three) dress sizes smaller, and I would look more like myself--or the self I think I am.

I look at photos of myself from a few years ago, and that Kirie calls to me, her head tilted in a way that shows some concern and a bit of embarrassment, "How you've changed." A combination of years, a baby, laziness, and a general attraction to good food--et voila! I am no longer la petite Americanne.

So why blog about this? It's not news, not interesting, certainly not unique (as seemingly half the population starts on diets this time of year). I'm writing about it because thinking about my weight is taking increasing time. I've noticed that it's influencing me in more ways--in how I dress, how I stand, in how I experience the world. I know that I do see a look of surprise on my face when I see myself in the mirror--is that me? "Too many cookies, Corduroy," I'll think.   

I brush those thoughts off, most of the time. Being overweight isn't disgusting or sinful, and it's not from shame that I want to lose weight. And I'm also not putting off happiness, saying "I'll be really be happy when I'm a size 4." All that said, I do want to make my body match the image of myself I carry in my head. My problem: I just haven't been motivated enough.

To keep with the one little word, I want to enjoy all of it, you know.  I want to be fully engaged in life, and that means enjoying limits, and more time for myself (read: exercise).   As I pointed out yesterday, "enjoy" is going to be an active term for me, and the onus is on me to make the efforts of  (ahem) reduction (not diet, I stress) something joyful.  This active joyfulness is not as simple as it looks, I'm beginning to think. I need some help in getting there.

So I'm writing this to give myself the kind of kick only a little public humiliation can give. Make no mistake: this humiliation isn't about my weight, but about not fulfilling my promise. How humiliated I would be to go back on my word once I've stated it publicly? By saying "it's time," I'm making a public commitment. I promise myself that my lifestyle is going to accommodate more workouts, fewer calories, and less stress-eating. I promise you I won't bore the snore out of you with the details of my progress. 

Hold me to it.