Maybe I Don't Want to Know What I'm Doing

I've been embroidering lately.

Which is a funny thing to say because I don't actually know how to embroider. I've always loved those colourful embroidered crewel pieces from the '70s - the flowers and leaves and curvy little vines, usually framed and hanging on a wall. They're cheerful and a little bit wonky and very obviously made by a person. I've wanted one for years, so recently I decided that instead of looking for one, I would just make one.

I had some beautiful Aurifil floss, (beautiful stuff and highly recommend) a piece of fabric, and a vague idea of what I wanted to do.

So I watched a couple of YouTube videos, remembered that I knew how to chain stitch and backstitch, and then decided that was probably enough information.

And off I went.

It's been great!

I have no idea if I'm doing things correctly, which may be exactly why I'm enjoying it so much.

I'm a quilter, so I'm not new to needle and thread. I hand quilt. I bind. I know my way around fabric. But embroidery is a different beast, and I'm very much figuring it out as I go.

And I've realized that there is something incredibly fun about being a beginner.

You know what's even more fun? Being a beginner who doesn't know she's supposed to be nervous.

I've been thinking about this because of softball, too.

This is my second year playing in a recreational league, and last year I was so new that I basically had one strategy at bat: hit the ball. I would swing at the first pitch and, more often than not, I'd actually hit it. This year I'm trying to be a little more sophisticated. I'm watching for bad pitches. I'm trying to be more selective. I'm attempting to develop something resembling actual skill.

And that's all well and good, but now I'm in that awkward middle place where I'm no longer a beginner and I'm certainly not an expert. I know enough to know that there's more to it than just whacking the ball, but I don't yet know enough to make all of that thinking automatic.

Last year, I just went up there and hit. There was something to be said for that.

It reminds me of when I was in my twenties and worked at a brewery in Toronto. On hot summer nights, a bunch of us would sometimes play poker after work in the coolers because, frankly, the coolers were about the only place you wanted to be.

I barely knew how to play poker.

I knew a few hands. I knew what a straight was. I understood the basic premise. And somehow, I won a fair amount.

I can't tell you exactly how I did it because, quite frankly, I had no idea what I was doing.

I suspect I was making bets that an experienced poker player would have found completely ridiculous. But I didn't know they were ridiculous, so I made them with confidence.

There is a certain advantage to ignorance.

You don't know enough to talk yourself out of things.

And I think that's what I've been enjoying about this embroidery project.

I'm not sitting there thinking, Oh, I can't possibly do that stitch because I don't know how.

I'm just thinking, Well, I suppose I'll figure it out.

There's a difference.

Once you've been doing something for a while, you accumulate all sorts of knowledge about what works, what doesn't, what's difficult, what you're good at, what you're terrible at, and what other people do much better than you.

It's useful information.

It's also occasionally a pain in the ass.

Because sometimes you know enough to get in your own way.

The nice thing about embroidery is that, for now, I don't have any expectations of myself. I'm not trying to become an embroiderer. I'm not trying to master every stitch or produce the most technically perfect piece of needlework you've ever seen.

I just wanted one of those fantastic old embroidered pieces for my wall.

So I'm making one.

And yes, I'll probably get better at it. I'll learn more stitches. I'll figure out what I'm doing. Maybe I'll even become one of those people who knows the proper name for every stitch instead of calling it "that loopy one."

But I'm not in a hurry.

I think we spend a lot of time trying to get past the beginner stage. We want to know what we're doing. We want to be good. We want to understand the rules. And I'm sure I'll want all of those things eventually.

For now, though, I'm enjoying not knowing.

There's something pretty great about picking up a new hobby with absolutely no intention of being an expert at it. You get to experiment, get to make questionable decisions, you get to surprise yourself.

And every once in a while, you might even win.

Just don't ask me how.