By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3
The closest I’ve ever come to getting into a physical fight happened when I was five. I sat at a round table coloring pictures alongside a few other Kindergartners. We were told to share the small pile of colors our teacher placed at the table’s center. But then one kid — there’s always that one kid — decided she wanted the red crayon all to herself.
She wouldn’t share it even for a few minutes, no matter how much the rest of us needed it. It was the first time I remember feeling what might be described as outrage at social injustice. I stared at my coloring book picture of Rudolph the Reindeer and knew that his nose wouldn’t color itself. I needed that red crayon.
I tried the peaceful “please, may I” approach again, but she flatly refused, gripping the red crayon tighter in her stingy little hand. Tempers flared. Things were said. The next thing I knew, the teacher was carting both of us out to the hallway, where she gave us a stern lecture on the importance of sharing and being kind. (I hope that kid was listening.)
As a shy kid not prone to confrontation, I wouldn’t have gone to war over just anything. But hoarding the communal crayons was a bridge too far because I loved crayons. Still do. I remember opening my first new 64-
count Crayola box with a built-in sharpener and breathing in that distinctive smell — marveling at all those wax soldiers lined up in rainbow rows. Crayons helped me fall in love with making.
I’m not an artist, and even my stick figures need work. But I love the simple, soothing act of moving a crayon or marker across paper. It was and still is relaxing, as so many creative hobbies are. Scientific studies show that almost any craft that requires your hands to move in a repetitive or rhythmic motion is good for your brain.
If you believe humans were created by a higher power, it makes sense that we inherited the instinct to create. Perhaps it’s hard-wired into our DNA, the mysterious need to make something and the joy of making it.
But somewhere along the way, we decided that making things for fun is just for kids. Ask most adults what they like to make, and many will say they’re too busy making money to make anything else. It’s a fair point. There’s no denying that money is necessary and that it can be used to do plenty of good things.
But it’s not everything. We also have this deep-seated instinct to create and transform. Words into stories. Yarn into blankets. A blank canvas into art. Slabs of wood into a bench. Raw ingredients into a meal. Dirt into a garden.
But who has time for that, right? And the truth is that, yes, making things requires time. But most makers do it in the nooks and crannies of our lives — a few minutes here, maybe an hour there if we’re lucky. And we find those little pockets of time mainly because we’ve realized that making something makes us into better versions of ourselves — calmer, curious, and more content.
Many people will say that if you make something, you should sell it. Turn it into a business, an industry, an empire worthy of the American dream. And if that’s where your soul leads you, so be it. But there’s nothing wrong with making something — anything — just for the love of it. For absolutely no commercial reasons. I learned how to knit (slowly and badly) by watching YouTube videos. Now, years later, I’m an improved knitter who makes imperfect blankets for people I love. My knitting is completely unprofitable, and yet my life feels richer for it. That’s the magic of making.
Speaking of magic, making something might give you a dose of soul medicine you didn’t know you needed. If you feel a little restless or dissatisfied, like you need something but can’t name what it might be, there’s a good chance you have a case of creative constipation. Symptoms include general grumpiness, excessive scrolling, and eating the whole bag of chips. Carbs can’t cure this condition but creating something can.
My advice is to start small. Do it before you feel ready and definitely before you “have time.” Just start and allow it to be an unprofitable, messy learning experience that might make you feel better than you have in a long, long time.
And if you need a red crayon to do it, I’ll share.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her book is available on Amazon.
Be the first to comment