Most of us don’t spend much time thinking about the aesthetics of our pincushions. For years, mine was a jumble of pins and needles, threaded and unthreaded, stuck in every which way.

That changed during a photo shoot at my house for The Spoonflower Handbook, a book I was editing at the time. The photographer, Jenny, and my friend Suzan, who had flown in to help, immediately teased me about the chaos.

I laughed—but then I realized they were right.

I love organization. I even have a Pinterest board devoted to it. Yet somehow it had never occurred to me that a pincushion could be thoughtfully arranged. Which is surprising because my pincushion isn’t just a utilitarian tool. It’s a treasured handmade object.

My friend Liana made it for me.

For seven years, Liana and I worked together editing books at a publishing house in New York City. One day, while she was planning her wedding, she mentioned to me that she was heading downtown to Purl to choose fabric for her reception napkins. (Purl is now an exquisite online-only source for everything yarn and knitting but back then they also had a brick-and-mortar yarn and fabric store in Soho.)

We were working with Joelle, Purl’s founder, on books at the time. So I quietly called Joelle and arranged to pay for Liana’s fabric before she arrived.

Liana chose fat quarters from Denyse Schmidt’s charming Hope Valley collection. Denyse, too, was one of our authors, making the whole moment feel wonderfully connected.

I anticipated a thank-you note for this gift.

Instead, Liana surprised me with something far more meaningful.

She used leftover fabric from her wedding napkins to make me the pincushion in the photo above, following a pattern from Joelle’s book Last-Minute Patchwork + Quilted Gifts.

Liana’s gift to me completed a circle of friendship, creativity, and stitching that still makes me smile. As does the process of organizing my pins and needles when they, once again, get jumbled.

If my pincushion could talk, it would tell you about a wedding, a secret phone call, a bond between coworkers, a revelation at a photo shoot, and, of course the many projects my pins and needles have been removed and replaced for.

So, tell me, if your pincushion—or another tool, or your stitches—could talk, what would they say?

What were you thinking about while you knit your last sweater? Do the fabrics in your favorite quilt tell a particular story? Is there a handmade object that instantly brings someone special to mind?

Over time, our tools and our stitches become more than the things we use to make. They absorb the stories of our lives—friendships and celebrations, losses and beginnings, the questions we wrestle with, and the moments when we finally understand.

That’s the real gift Liana gave me: not just a place to keep my pins, but a place to hold our shared affection. Which is, I think, the best reason for arranging it with care.

P.S. An Invitation

Today, Liana is the general manager at the online learning site Creativebug. Recently, she invited me to give a presentation as part of their summer series focused on handwork and wellness.

On Wednesday, August 5, at 4pm EST, I’ll be presenting The Wisdom of Our Hands: Finding Meaning & Connection Through Handwork. If you’d like to attend this online event—or receive a link to the recording afterward—you can register here.

Back in October 2019, when my book Making a Life: Working by Hand and Discovering the Life You Are Meant to Live was first published, I sat down for a Q&A that ran as part of the press release. Re-reading it recently, I was struck by how much of the content still feels urgent — maybe even more so now than it did then. The questions about slowing down, about what we lose when we outsource our hands’ work, about defining success on our own terms — these aren’t questions that expire.

I’m sharing that original Q&A here as a kind of time capsule. It captures where my head was at the moment the book entered the world: what drew me to write it, the makers who shaped my thinking, the lessons I didn’t expect to learn, and the leap of faith that got me there in the first place. If you’re new to Making a Life, consider this an introduction. If you’ve read it already, I hope it offers a little behind-the-scenes look at the questions and ideas that shaped it.

Here’s the conversation, just as it was back then.

You have been an author, an editor, and a publisher in your lifetime. What inspired you to write Making a Life, and how does it differ from your previous work?

I have spent much of my career in publishing celebrating the value, beauty, and importance of making by hand. Many of the publications I worked on in the past were technique- and project-driven, meaning that they mostly taught people how to make things. For Making a Life, I wanted to focus on why we make things with our hands and why doing so is vital in the 21st century.

How did you become involved in the textile / crafts world? And why is making by hand so important to you?

I grew up in a home where making by hand, sometimes out of necessity but more often for the sheer pleasure of it, was an ordinary part of our lives. As a young adult, I became passionate about knitting. I loved what I could create with my hands, how I felt in the process of making, and how I could travel the world--learning about and connecting with people and cultures--by way of their yarns, techniques, patterns, traditions, and so on. Gradually, my interest in knitting as a creative medium and as a lens through which I could learn about the world and, ultimately, myself, extended to other types of making.

In a broad sense, I see making by hand as a portal through which all of us can become better attuned to our true selves and our relationship to the people around us and the planet we live on. On a personal level, making by hand has helped me to slow down and feel peaceful, grounded, and fulfilled—and, at the same time, fully alive—in a world that often moves too fast and is too loud for me. In addition, it engages me in a tactile and visual experience that bring me great pleasure and leads to a tangible object that becomes part of my life. The more I am able to make or repair in order to take care of my own needs—or at least understand the services others are providing to me—the better (more resilient and safe) I feel overall.

What do you think we are in danger of losing when we stop making things by hand?

I think the importance of making by hand is generally underestimated in our culture—and we do so at our own peril. As Renate Hiller (featured in Chapter 1: Remembering) expressed so powerfully, when we stop knowing how to use our hands to meet our most basic needs, we become estranged from nature, from the value and meaning of things, and from the empathy we need to care for one another and our world.

Think about it: For tens of thousands of years being able to make by hand was the key to survival. It gave life purpose. People used their hands to make their shelters, clothing, and tools and, of course, they also foraged, grew, and prepared their own food. Over the past few hundred years, since the start of the Industrial Revolution, we have gone from being a culture of makers to a culture of consumers. Somehow “success” has become so tied to the idea of making more money and acquiring symbols of wealth that it has become very easy to lose sight of a deeper, ultimately more life-affirming, purpose.

‘How did you begin your research and decide on makers to include in Making a Life?

I began by making lists: individuals and groups to talk to, books to read, podcasts and lectures to listen to, ideas to investigate, themes to consider, places to visit. I explored as best I could and reached out to people whose stories, perspective, and process caught my attention and resonated with me—and who I thought I could travel to meet in person given the reality of my schedule and financial resources. The book recounts my experiences with the cross-section of makers I happened upon. I could continue to write this book for the rest of my life and never run out of subjects. In many ways, I would enjoy that.

Of course, every one you wrote about has their own unique story. Did you also find them to be similar in some ways?

Yes. They all love what they do. They have come to making in many different ways. But they all see it as integral to their sense of self. They have challenged the status quo and built a life for themselves in which the impulse to work with their hands informs not only how they spend their time but also how they relate to the world around them and how they define success.

How did you decide on the book’s organization?

The chapters are divided into themes based on some of the key ways making by hand can contribute to a fulfilling life. There’s Remembering (connecting with the practices of our ancestors and with the natural world), Slowing Down (easing our pace rather than trying to adapt to the speed of machines), Joining Hands (gathering with others who share our passion), Making a Home (creating comfort and meaning in the places we inhabit), and Finding a Voice (discovering a satisfying means of self-expression).

You wrote about trips to India and Mexico in the introduction to the book but you didn’t write profiles of makers in those places. Why did you make that decision?

Early on in this project, I traveled to Jaipur and New Delhi, India, and Oaxaca, Mexico, places with long, rich histories of handmaking. Beforehand I wondered if I could write about the makers I would meet there, but once I arrived, I realized that I would need much more time and a much deeper understanding of their cultures to fully comprehend their stories and relate them with real sensitivity and authenticity. I chose to write about both of those trips in the Introduction because they were an integral part of my own education, helping me to gain perspective on the complicated relationship between handmaking and economic development and globalization. That’s a relationship that I’d like to explore further.

What important lessons did you learn about making by hand through your research? What surprised you the most about the journey of writing it?

Over the course of writing this book I became much more attuned to the dangers of capitalism when it isn’t practiced with compassion and, instead, allows the goal of making money to take precedence over the wellness of people and the environment in which we live.

While in Paris visiting Natalie Lete (Chapter 5: Finding a Voice), she said to me, “I make, therefore I am,” a play on DesCartes’ famous pronouncement, “Je pense, donc je suis” (“I think, therefore I am”). Then, after leaving her studio, on the way back to my hotel, I saw “Je depense, donc je suis” (I spend, therefore I am) scrawled on the wall at the metro stop. In a way, those three statements track (pretty pessimistically) the changes that have transpired in how we live and what we focus on. I see what I call the DIY renaissance as a positive sign for the future.

In Making a Life you mention the DIY renaissance occurring as part of the same impulse that drives slow food and slow fashion. Can you expand on this thought?

All of these movements reflect a growing sensitivity and ethical concern about how, where, and by whom what we consume is produced, whether that is food, clothing, or anything else, and a sense of responsibility for how our choices affect our daily lives, people near and far, and our environment.

If you had to pick one story from the book that really impacted your way of thinking about making by hand, which one would it be and why?

It’s very hard to choose, but if I must: the conversation with Ellen Dissanayake about making by hand and art-making being universal biological impulses inherited from our hunter-gatherer ancestors. Recognizing that these impulses are wired into me genetically has helped me to understand why I feel so strongly about their power as tools to build emotional wellness.

In your intro, you say you reached a certain point in your publishing career in which you were making a good living, but no longer making a good life. Did writing this book change any of that for you? What is your hope for the future?

Writing this book definitely helped me on my quest to sync the way I spend my time with my values and goals. I now have a clearer sense of what success means to me and am more aware of how the choices I make on a daily basis impact my ability to make both a good living and a good life.

The more time I spend taking care of my own needs rather than outsourcing them and connecting with people and places in a sincere way, the more vibrant and empowered I feel.

I expect that I will spend the rest of my life exploring creativity, spending time with other makers, and hopefully making a positive contribution.

You left your full-time, salaried job without knowing exactly what you wanted to do next, just feeling sure that you needed a change. What 3 pieces of advice would you give to someone who is thinking of taking that leap?

Define what success and happiness mean for you personally.

Tune into the decisions, small and large, that you make each day that align (or not) with those beliefs.

Make a list of all of the little messages your internal voice whispers to you about what you want to be doing.

Don’t put any pressure on yourself and let it be stream of consciousness. When you’ve finished, take a look at your list and think about what those whispers are telling you about yourself. Share it with people you trust and talk to them about it. My first “whisper list” included learning to make pickles, traveling to India, participating in a writing residency, learning to change a tire and build a shelter, and taking a graphic design class. So far, I’ve done all of them except for the tire and the shelter.

Ask yourself: If not now, when?

In my last year at my full-time, salaried job, I thought a lot about the regrets I would have if I didn’t leave and pursue some other dreams. I knew I would do freelance work to make money and meet my financial obligations while I was figuring out my next move, but I was scared: I spent a lot of time worrying about giving up my employer’s contribution to my retirement savings. Then I realized that I needed to balance saving for retirement with making a good, purposeful life in the here and now.

In the intro, you say you were moved by a lecturer who reminded his audience to never let the lure of technology or business overshadow the value we place on working with our own hands. What are some concrete ways we can be most conscious of this?

In terms of technology, I think we need to pay attention to how it is changing our lives and assess when it is for the better and when it isn’t. As Judith MacKenzie (Chapter 1: Remembering) said to me while showing me a collection of handmade textile tools, some of them hundreds of years old: our brains and our hands shape tools and then, the way we use those tools changes our brains.

In terms of business, mainstream culture would have us believe that salary and status, profit and market share are the metrics by which success should be judged. In Chapter 5: Finding a Voice, I wrote about woodworker Alex DeVol who was educated at a prep school about which he said, “Not for a second were we encouraged to question the idea that financial success and a good title were what we wanted.” That’s a pretty common experience these days. Certainly, having enough money for and access to nutritious food, safe housing, education, and healthcare are essential but, beyond that, I think it is beneficial to examine what we are seeking and why and whether or not the path that has put us on is positive in terms of how we are living and what we are contributing. Making by hand provides us with an alternate lens through which to investigate these questions and a different kind of insight into what we are capable of changing in our own lives and in the wider world around us.

What do you hope readers take away from Making a Life?

I hope readers will feel compelled to investigate, celebrate, and honor the vital role of making by hand, and creative expression more generally, in their own lives and in the lives of others all over the world. And I hope the stories and ideas I present will inspire them to believe in and reach for their dreams, even when that means starting with one very small step at a time. The journey is, indeed, the destination.

One more thing, since the timing lines up:

I’ve been quiet here lately because I was in Portugal for two weeks, and now I’m prepping for a class I’m filming as part of KnitStars — the crew is coming to my house in a few weeks to shoot it.

The class, called The Maker’s Way: A Roadmap to Joy, actually picks up right where this Q&A leaves off. We’ll explore the connection between creativity, authenticity, and personal fulfillment — approaching making as a lifelong practice rather than a destination. As a guide, I’ll be returning to the basics of knitting, using the simple triangle as the foundation for a personal capsule collection, and inviting participants to build a framework for one of their own. It’s very much an extension of the same questions I was contemplating when I wrote Making a Life: What does it mean to make a good life, not just a good living, and what role can our hands play in the process?

As it happens, KnitStars is running a flash sale from June 28 through July 5, with a discounted rate to join and a previous season thrown in if you sign up early. (Full transparency: I do earn a commission if you enroll through my link.) If the themes in this Q&A resonated with you, this might be worth a look.

Back to our regularly scheduled making, soon.

“I could help you,” I said, and then I told her about my career, especially the years I’d spent developing my imprint, STC Craft: Melanie Falick Books, at Abrams.

We agreed that I would assist her with the proposal and finding a publisher and, in exchange, she would give me extra lessons on basketry techniques I wanted to pursue further after the workshop concluded. A win-win, we agreed.

As soon as Katie sent me her first draft of the proposal, I was impressed—by both the effort she had already put into it and the scope of what she hoped to achieve. Katie wanted to share just about everything she knew: how to forage for and harvest natural materials sustainably and how to weave them into beautiful baskets featuring a broad array of techniques.

And she did.

Tomorrow, Tuesday, April 21, Weaving Wild Baskets: Techniques and Projects Using Foraged Leaves, Grasses, Vines, and Bark will be published by Storey Publishing.

Three hundred and fourteen pages of Katie’s knowledge, wisdom, and generosity. A true tour de force.

As I flipped through my advance copy this weekend, I found myself returning—not just to the pages, but to the experience behind them. The book captures Katie’s voice and philosophy so vividly that it sent me back to my own time as her student: to the woods and fields, to the work of gathering and preparing materials—cutting invasive vines, peeling bark, rehydrating dried materials in a cauldron of steamy water—and then to the quieter, steady focus of weaving.

What follows are a few glimpses from those months—my own photographs of our class and memories from that time.

Katie rehydrating elm inner bark for basket-making. Katie has been teaching basketry since 2012. She constructed her first piece—a tiny coiled bowl out of pine needles—in art school and slowly segued from a broad interest in multiple media, including natural dyeing, spinning and weaving, printmaking, drawing, and watercolor painting, to a solid focus on basketry. “Through baskets, she explains, “I explore the interconnected histories of plants and people, my own ancestry, and my place in the world.” As much as Katie wants to teach her students how to make baskets, perhaps even more she wants to instill in them a reverence for the trees and plants that provide our wares, model how we can connect with them, and educate us about how to source them sustainably and respectfully.

One fall morning, Katie sent us out into the large field on a friend’s land to collect cattails, little bluestem, and other dried grasses for coiled baskets, Katie instructed us, “Do not cut more than half of any plant. And do not cut more than you need.” Though the field is large and even if we were to mow down the whole thing, the grasses would likely grow back, Katie teaches us to practice restraint, avoid greed and waste, and harvest gratefully and respectfully.

Nicole, a hairstylist who loves to spend time in nature, decided to leave her last round of grasses on her coiled basket “free.” Learning to make baskets, she says, has given her a different perspective on baskets she sees for sale in stores. Who made this? How long did it take? How much were they paid? she wonders. And she feels an even deeper connection to earth. “When I’m picking up garbage on trails,” she says, “I feel like I’m serving the earth, and she is providing for me. I’m cleaning you up and you’re going to give me some bark.”

Julia, a conservator at a natural history museum, made this basket using a large piece of white pine bark she folded and then stitched into shape. (Bark is amazingly flexible when freshly peeled off the log and when dried and rehydrated.) For the rim, Julia added a strip of canvas cut from a painting her husband, an artist, had decided to toss.

I used bamboo cut from a neighbor’s yard for the frame and grapevine from my yard to random-weave this trellis for my garden. I love that it will biodegrade over time. Then I get to make another one!

Tension platters are an especially easy project that I enjoy making with sticks from my yard, such as the suckers that grow at the base of my pussywillows (and need to be cut off for the small trees’ health). I keep a few platters on our dining table. They’re also a fun way to gift a loaf of homemade bread. The recipient can keep the platter, use it to start a fire, or compost it.

One of my favorite parts of basketry class was learning to make cordage, essentially a two-ply string, out of plant fiber (in this case, basswood inner bark). It is a relaxing, meditative process that makes me feel connected to my ancient ancestors, who likely used it to make baskets as well as many other useful items, such as nets, fishing and sailing lines, clothing, and shoes.

I’m happy to have played a small role in helping bring Weaving Wild Baskets into the world and, to celebrate, I’m hosting a giveaway on Instagram. If you are interested in winning a copy, click here to enter before Friday, April 24 at 1pm EST, when I’ll choose a winner at random.

EXTRA

On a different topic: If you read my last newsletter and are still interested in learning about KnitStars Season 11, click here. Early bird enrollment has ended, but you can sign up to receive an alert when regular enrollment begins in the fall. Or you can enroll in classes from past seasons now. I’m very busy knitting in preparation for filming my Season 11 class.

It was to be a more personal exploration, one in which I centered what happened to me after Making a Life was published, when I began to deepen my own handwork practice.

After decades at a desk writing, editing, and administering—and always imagining that someday I’d make more time for handwork—I switched my focus. I began to prioritize learning how to make useful things for my home and to share with friends and family. I homeschooled myself in gardening, cooking, natural dyeing, pottery, basketry, garment sewing, patchwork, knitting, and more. I revisited books I edited. I took classes with teachers I admired. I made mistakes, I misunderstood things, and I developed life skills that gave me confidence and a sense of purpose. My goal was not expertise or perfection, it was presence, process, competence—and joy.

I wanted to share my experience because it made me feel more at ease—with myself and with the world around me—and I hoped it might inspire others.

Digging my hands into dirt and clay; foraging for grapevine to weave into baskets and black walnuts and goldenrod for natural dyes; taking my measurements, drafting a pattern, sewing a dress that suited my taste and figure; experimenting with my knitting—all of that grounded me and gave me focus in a world full of infinite distractions, in a world where “success” has become so tied to the idea of making money and acquiring symbols of wealth that it has become too easy to lose sight of a deeper, ultimately more life-affirming, purpose.

I wanted to write about all of that within a cultural framework that examines the true significance of making by hand in human life.

I wanted to pass it on.

When the Book Wouldn’t Come

Then came writer’s block. A long, humbling stretch of it. I put the Maker’s Way on pause, and I sat with that loss for a while.

One day, during a heart-to-heart phone call, a friend suggested a different way of seeing it: Maybe these experiences and ideas weren’t meant to be published in a book. Maybe they were meant to take another form entirely. I took solace in that perspective. But I didn’t know what the new form, or forms, might be.

A New Way to Share What I’ve Learned

I’m happy to tell you that I’ve been invited to join the upcoming season of KnitStars as one of ten knitting and crochet teachers. It is called Your Season of Genius, a celebration of the creativity inside each of us, waiting to be drawn out and explored.

I’ll be leading a class called The Maker’s Way: A Roadmap to Joy. It will be centered on the power of handwork—how making with our hands can ground us, focus us, and bring genuine meaning to our everyday lives.

We’ll use the knitted triangle as our foundation—a simple form that opens up endless possibilities. I’ll walk the class through construction in an intuitive, accessible way, and we’ll look at how small shifts—in fiber, color, shaping, or embellishment—can transform a piece. More than that, we’ll discover how a deep exploration of even a simple shape can guide us through known and unknown pathways and lead us to new discoveries about handwork, our environment, and ourselves.

As a beautiful bonus, the amazing team at Purl Soho is providing me with an extraordinary spectrum of yarns to to work and play with. I’ve already started swatching, and I can’t wait to show you what’s possible.

About KnitStars

KnitStars is a unique online learning platform, known for cinematic masterclasses filmed in the homes of knitters and crocheters around the globe. Each class begins with a short documentary about the teacher’s creative life before moving into the in-depth lessons, divided into manageable, revisitable segments.

Everything is self-paced and online. You can watch from anywhere, revisiting the material whenever you like with lifetime access.

If You’re Curious

If any of this resonates with you, definitely take a look at the full lineup, which includes classes with this impressive roster of teachers: Chandi Agee, Debbie Bliss, Adella Colvin, Alice Hammer, Rastus Hsu, Erika Knight, Brad Knull, Lesley Anne Robinson, and Gale Zucker.

The breadth of what’s being offered is genuinely exciting.

See the full season here.

I’d truly love to have you there.

Looking forward!

xo

Note: The link I’m providing here and above is my affiliate link, which means if you choose to enroll through it, I receive a commission. It’s a simple way to support my work, and I am grateful for it.

The editor chose my other idea instead: a piece about knitting belts in the Shetland Islands.

I wasn’t surprised. At the time, meditation and mindfulness were still far from the mainstream, and knitting magazines focused almost entirely on projects and techniques. Still, the question stayed with me: is there a relationship between meditation and the quiet work of our hands?

The most satisfying and enlightening conversation I have had about the subject happened recently, with Rev. Tenku Ruff of Beacon Zen Temple, and I am happy to share an excerpt of that conversation below.

It is my understanding that there are many forms of Buddhism. Your practice is called Soto Zen, which is unique in its focus on mindfulness in everyday life—in the home, at work, and in the community. Is that correct?

Tenku Ruff: Soto Zen Buddhism, founded by Eihei Dogen (1200–1253), is a school of Buddhism that focuses on being fully present in each moment, with a balance of silent seated meditation (zazen) and work as spiritual practice.

Is there a tradition of making or repairing one’s clothing in Soto Zen?

Tenku: Yes. The tradition of sewing robes goes back to the time of the Buddha and has been passed down through the generations, sometimes with monks and nuns sewing for ourselves and sometimes with others sewing for us as an offering.

The tradition of sewing for ourselves came to America because initially, nobody had a way to buy the robes. Everybody here had to learn how to sew.

I learned to sew Buddha’s robe, first at the San Francisco Zen Center, then in a women’s monastery in Japan in 2006-7.

To start, I made the style of robe called a rakusu, which is a small version of Buddha’s robe, worn around the neck, over other clothing. It is made of squares and rectangles of fabric that are hand-sewn together with straight stitches. It is meant to look like a rice field.

Traditionally the fabric was reclaimed cloth that had been washed and dyed.

What do you remember about learning to sew?

Tenku: Sewing wasn’t so interesting for me at first, but it was satisfying to learn how to do something meaningful. I loved the communal aspect—getting to know my sewing teacher and the other nuns.

Are there rituals around the sewing practice?

Tenku: We usually set a specific time for sewing—a protected time. If you need to talk about how to sew something you can, but it’s not a chatty time. It’s a time of comtemplation.

With each stitch we recite the three refuges of Buddhism:

I take refuge in Buddha.
I take refuge in Dharma.
I take refuge in Sangha.

When we take refuge in Buddha, we are honoring both the historical person who existed long ago as well as living beings in this moment. Sangha is the community of practitioners, and Dharma is the teachings, which guide us to live an ethical life.

Do you consider the time you spend sewing meditation?

Tenku: It can be. Meditation isn’t only sitting meditation. Zen within activity is just as important as Zen within stillness. This particular activity is one that doesn’t require a lot of talking, so, we can bring meditative stillness to it. Some days things go really well and some days they don’t. That’s just the way it is.

Zen within activity is just as important as Zen within stillness.

When the Thread Knots

Sometimes when I’m sewing and my thread knots—or I run out of thread a few inches from the end of a seam—I get frustrated. Then I have trouble threading the needle.

Threading the needle is essentially the same physical action each time, but when I rush or approach it with annoyance it becomes harder—less graceful.

Is that similar to sitting in meditation and fighting your thoughts rather than just being present without grabbing onto them?

Tenku: It is.

When we meditate sometimes everything feels peaceful and lovely. Sometimes it feels frustrating. Sometimes we have a lot of thoughts. Sometimes we have no thoughts.

And we keep doing it.

And the more we do it, the more absorbed we become. In that sense, when you look at the big picture of doing things, such as sewing a Buddhist robe, it’s very similar.

Sometimes you are completely absorbed and the whole day passes and you are hardly aware of it. It is is as if time doesn’t even exist. Other times, the day will never end. Sometimes we’re thinking, thinking, thinking, and before we know it our stitches are crooked. Other times we feel really focused and the stitches come out exactly right. Our focus and intention carry us.

“Sometimes you are completely absorbed and the whole day passes and you are hardly aware of it. It is as if time doesn’t even exist.”

Learning Patience

I’m currently knitting socks using a new-to-me heel technique. I’ve had to redo my work three times. I wouldn’t have taken on a project like this in the past because I wasn’t ready to face the challenge—or willing to redo my work to get it right.

Tenku: Have you found that your capacity to focus has increased over time?

It has increased. Now I’m more aware of how the voice in my head (the attitude I bring to my experience) affects the quality of my experience. I am also more conscious of how frustrated I get because I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be doing and I somehow want the proecess to be easier.

Tenku: You intentionally took on this hard project—and now you want it to be easy.

True. It’s a contradiction I face often. Sometimes I have the patience to slow down and focus on a challenge and sometimes I don’t. I’ll rush through or skip a few steps, hoping that somehow the result will be good, though perhaps not as refined as I might have initially hoped.

Tenku: It’s very similar to any kind of meditation process. We have this idea that we want to just sit down and instantly all of our problems will go away, but they don’t. Over time we develop more capacity to deal with what is in front of us.

Mindful vs. Mindless

Some knitters refer to knitting that is easy for them, such as long stretches of garter or stockinette stitch, as mindless, which bothers me because it seems to imply it is meaningless. From your perspective, what makes a handwork process mindful vs. mindless? Is it the intention?

Tenku: What makes an activity mindful is what you bring to it—the intention and the attitude and the care you take. I don’t know that I would agree that it is a mindless activity just because it is easy. You don’t get to that level of skill where you can do something without needing to think about every single aspect of it without putting in many hours of training.

“What makes an activity mindful is what you bring to it—the intention and the attitude, and the care you take.”

Stillness and Activity

This gets back to what you were saying about meditation in your practice not being just what you do while sitting in silence.

Tenku: During zazen, which is what we call our formal meditation, we alternate between periods of sitting and walking. This teaches us to go into stillness, into activity, into stillness, into activity, so that we become more fluid between the two.

In the stillness, of course, we don’t have outside distractions and we can really observe our minds. It’s quiet and there is nowhere to go.

People are often surprised when they first start practicing. They say they had no idea just how active their minds are. When we sit still sometimes we feel a combination of relief—wow, I get to be quiet for a whole hour—and then we feel overwhelmed by how loud our thoughts are.

When we learn how to quiet our minds and then continue to do it, we can bring that aspect of practice into our activities. If we were only sitting still, we wouldn’t be interacting with the world.

No matter how much practice we do, it doesn’t matter if we’re not kind and considerate to those around us. If we go around in a bubble and don’t know how to interact and treat our neighbors nicely—not just the neighbors but the grass and the house and the trees and everything—better, then it doesn’t mean anything. It’s a vacuous activity.

When we’re practicing Zen within activity, we’re embodying care for the whole universe. We’re doing things but we’re still watching our mind. We’re bringing focus and that concentration to everything we do.

“When we’re practicing Zen within activity, we’re embodying care for the whole universe.”

. . .

Rev. Tenku is a Buddhist nun who trained in Zen monasteries in Japan and North America. She holds a Master of Divinity degree from Maitripa College, a Tibetan Buddhist graduate school in Portland, Oregon, and is a board-certified chaplain with the Association of Professional Chaplains. Today Rev. Tenku primarily focuses on running Beacon Zen Temple, a Soto Zen Temple in Beacon, NY. Rev. Tenku also serves as the Ethics Committee Chair for the Soto Zen Buddhist Association, travels around the world as a guest teacher, and works as a chaplain.

Recommended Reading

Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind: Informal Talks on Zen Meditation and Practice by Shunryu Suzuki

Opening the Hand of Thought by Kosho Uchiyama.

At long last, I’ve decided to revive that “conversation”—now as a newsletter.

In this space, I will be writing about the role making by hand plays in my life, about the inspiring people I meet, and about why I believe that handwork is not just relevant but crucial in our modern world. In the process, I hope to inspire you to celebrate and appreciate your own creativity, to join this dialogue, and to spread your knowledge and enthusiasm far and wide.

I have a lot of ideas to share. But, to be honest, I’ve been struggling with writing for a while.

After publishing Making a Life: Working by Hand and Discovering the Life You Are Meant to Live (which was the precursor to the online series), I spent several years working on a new book. Eventually, I tabled it. I felt stuck. It was my first real experience with writer’s block, and it was both scary and confusing. Aside from basic editorial tasks connected to my consulting work, I stopped writing for nearly two years.

Then, a few months ago—I was invited to contribute to the Vacation with an Artist (VAWAA) blog. VAWAA matches makers of all levels with artists around the world for immersive mini-apprenticeships. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I’ve dreamed of connecting with VAWAA—and someday enrolling in one of their trips—for a long time.

I wrote “The Ordinary, Extraordinary Container,” an essay about my experience weaving baskets from foraged plant materials—and about Elizabeth Fisher’s carrier bag theory of evolution, the idea that the container, likely innovated by women, was a foundational tool in human evolution. Last month, I also wrote “Another Way of Breathing” for the Spring 2026 issue of Laine Crochet, reflecting on my experience as a longtime knitter beginning to crochet.

I completed both assignments and I’m proud of them.

And yet, I still feel hesitant.

To begin drafting this newsletter, I had to keep reminding myself to take it one small step at a time.

I made a simple commitment: five minutes. That was all.

After five minutes, I could stop and call it a success until next time—or I could continue. (This is my go-to strategy when I’m reluctant to begin a task.)

My plan is to post once or twice a month for a year and then reassess. Perhaps this will lead me back to the book I set aside. Or perhaps it will lead somewhere else entirely.

Either way, I’m glad you’re here.

As Georgia O’Keeffe so wisely stated,

“To create one’s world takes courage.”

Let’s do this together—slowly, by hand.

love,

Share Melanie Falick: Making a Life

A few notes:

If there’s something you’d like me to explore here—an idea, a question—just hit reply. I’d love to hear from you.

Videos from Making a Life: The Conversation interview series can still be watched on the Making a Life You Tube channel.

If you’re curious about the Carrier Bag Theory of Evolution, I highly recommend this audiovisual reading of Ursula K. LeGuin’s essay titled The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction.

The spring 2026 issue of Laine Crochet will be published on April 2. You can join their mailing list and get advance notice here.

Subscribe now

In the meantime, tell your friends!