There was a time in my life where I thought, earnestly, that I would learn how to stitch and sew proficiently. I spent numerous hours with a needle and a piece of fabric, watching videos, and talking to my grandmas, neat, perfect seamstresses as they were, about how exactly to carry out the process. There is a particular kind of memory that lives in the hands of women who have sewn their whole lives; you can watch it happen from across the kitchen table, and no amount of tutorials on the internet quite conveys it.
Though I can still do a few stitches and save a button or two if needed, I do not have the breadth of skill required to make beautiful patterns of lace by hand, nor to craft a dress or a strong costume. My work stops at the utilitarian: a hem retained, a hole closed, a strap re-attached to something a friend has been meaning to fix for six months.
When I reveal this fact to my friends who can sew and pour hours into such creative efforts (often for competitions or theater productions), they are often eager to let me know that there is always time to take back such a hobby. Sewing is patient. It waits for you. The needle will be there when you decide to sit down again.
However, I believe that for now, I have made the right choice. I love singing, playing piano, writing, and volunteering, and those hobbies help me feel much more at home in the world than efforts such as sewing. I have changed since I first picked up such hobbies, and consider myself a better individual for it. Not every abandoned pursuit is a loss. Some of them are just the space that the pursuits you actually love needed in order to grow.
I ultimately have little regret over the loss. It would be a helpful skill to know how to sew exceedingly well, but I find myself to be satisfied in my life regardless. If I ever change my mind, the fabric shop is still there. Until then, I am happy to admire the work of the people around me who kept going where I did not.
