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TIME WELL SPENT Have you noticed how impatient we’ve become? I caught myself the other day. I ordered something online and discovered it was going to take two days to arrive instead of one. Two days?! I was actually a little annoyed. But I mean, really. Two days is hardly an unreasonable amount of time to wait for a package. Yet there I was, thinking, Why is it taking so long? Apparently, I have gotten very used to speed. And I don’t think I’m alone. We can order something in the morning and have it on our doorstep tomorrow. We can send a message across the country and expect an almost immediate response. We can look up practically anything we want to know in a matter of seconds. We’ve gotten so accustomed to things happening quickly that even waiting until tomorrow can feel like waiting too long. We’ve also become surprisingly uncomfortable with empty time. Waiting at the doctor’s office? Check the phone. Sitting in the car? Check the phone. Have five quiet minutes? Surely there’s something we should be doing. We’ve become very good at filling every little space of time. Everything around us seems to say, “Hurry up. Get it done. Faster. Move on to the next thing.” And yet, something rather interesting is happening. At the same time that the rest of our lives seem to be speeding up, many people are deliberately choosing creative activities that take time. You can especially see it in the resurgence of what used to be called “granny crafts.” I experienced it for myself recently when I walked into a yarn shop. I’m 63 and a lifelong granny crafter, so I’m accustomed to being one of the younger women in a yarn shop. But this time, I stopped and looked around. The shop was buzzing with women in their 20s and 30s. They were looking at yarn, discussing projects, comparing colors and patterns. There were enough young women that I immediately noticed. And I remember thinking, Wait a minute. Something is changing here. It turns out I’m not the only one noticing. Yarn shops in Boston and Seattle have reported seeing more younger customers. The Guardian spoke with young people who described putting down their phones to make things by hand and finding friends through creative groups. Some of us learned these skills sitting beside our mothers or grandmothers. Many others are finding their way through online tutorials, social media, craft markets, and classes. What interests me is that, however they find their way to these crafts, people are deliberately choosing to spend time on something that cannot be rushed. There is even a name for this broader movement: slow crafting. And I think the name says a lot. Slow crafting is about deliberately making room for something in our lives that doesn’t move at the speed of the internet. A basket grows one strand at a time. A drawing develops line by line. A painting takes shape brushstroke by brushstroke. There is no shortcut that preserves the experience. And maybe that’s exactly why we’re drawn to it. Sitting down with a pencil and a piece of paper asks us to slow down and pay attention to what is actually in front of us rather than what our brain assumes is there. When we paint, we have to take time to look. Really look. Notice the way light falls across an object, the subtle difference between two colors, the shape of a shadow. When we weave a basket, we feel the resistance of the reed. We learn when to pull it snug and when to give it room to bend. Our attention comes back into the physical world. And I think that’s something we’re increasingly hungry for. We spend so much of our day looking at screens, moving quickly from one thing to another, constantly absorbing information and responding to whatever demands our attention next. Making something offers another option. It allows us to fill time without filling it with more noise. I see this whenever people gather around a table at Harbor City Art. Once the materials come out and everyone begins, something changes. The pace of the room slows. There is the soft scrape of pencil against paper, the snip of shears through reed, the occasional clink of a paintbrush against a jar of cloudy rinse water. People talk, laugh and concentrate. Someone leans closer to see how the next row of a basket is woven. Someone else holds a painting at arm’s length, tilting it toward the light. We become absorbed in what we are doing. For a few hours, there is nowhere else to be. Nothing else to do. And maybe that is one of the most valuable things we can give ourselves—time that is allowed to just unfold. A basket does not grow faster because we are impatient. A painting does not become finished because we wish it would. The work asks us to stay. It reminds us that time is not only something to save, spend or get through. It is also something to savor, to notice, to inhabit. Perhaps that is why old-fashioned crafts are having their moment again. In a world that keeps telling us to move faster, they offer a quiet refusal. They remind us that a life is not measured only by how much we accomplish or how quickly we arrive. Some of its most meaningful moments are the ones in which we sit still long enough to notice our hands, our thoughts, the silence, and the people sitting beside us. Maybe Grandma knew something we are only now beginning to understand and appreciate. Time spent making something slowly, with care and attention, is never time wasted. It is time well spent. __________ Further Reading Curious about the return of “grandma hobbies”? Here are three articles that explore why people are making room for them again: ● The Rise of “Grandma Hobbies”: Why Slowing Down Has Become Necessary Amongst Young Adults — Erin Panella writes about rediscovering sewing and spending less time on her phone. ● Say Bye to Doomscrolling: These Grandma Hobbies and Crafts Are Trending — NBC looks at the appeal of hands-on, screen-free activities. ● The Comforting Resurgence of “Grandma Hobbies” — The New York Times explores renewed interest in crafts such as knitting and quilting.
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