Looking back on the five years (!) I've worked on my tapestree, I've noticed a trend of adding designs pretty consistently through the spring and summer, slowing down at the beginning of fall, and then disappearing completely until the weather hit above freezing again. This isn't surprising, since once the sun sets for winter in Pittsburgh and everything is gloomy for five months, I have a hard time finding the motivation to do anything.
If I make one resolution this year, it will be to work on my relationship with the holidays, aka the very worst season. Someone remind me on Halloween?
I also want to work on being a little less fussy with how I use this space (along with some of my other social media). I've noticed over the last several months that writers and bloggers (or at least the ones I'm drawn to) are beginning to move back toward realness. And I don't necessarily mean "I'm eating French fries again!" authentic, but actually sharing the messier aspects of their lives. It's been not-as-rare to see discussions on otherwise picture-perfect timelines that bring up depression, anxiety, loneliness, infertility...in ways that feel genuine.
I think that sort of shift is exciting, and it's pushed me to look at how I'm using social media, because even though I'm still unreasonably cynical about...most things, I'm starting to realize that for as much as I obsess over nostalgia and history, I'm not utilizing the tools I have available to document the important moments of my life because I'm too concerned with some goofy aesthetic, which is actually ridiculous. I know it has a lot to do with my own weird anxieties, but looking back on the past year and seeing how little I've stopped to acknowledge, good and bad, is kind of scary when considering how quickly time passes.
So, something to work on. I'm grateful that I started my tapestree for that reason—there's something about needlework that generates mindfulness. I don't generally have a good memory, but I can look at each of the designs and remember where it was stitched, what was happening in my life while I stitched it, and my feelings at the time. I remember sitting in bed in a terrible hotel room in Maryland and stitching the Poe crow, how the sunlight felt in my brand new city apartment when I added Carson Street, and how, last year, I thought we'd never find a house.
It really feels like recording pieces of myself in cloth, which I love.