This piece of fabric has been looking at me. I can feel it. It’s been sitting in its bin, all sweet and cheery, yet the way it stares at me is making me feel a little guilty. I thought it was happy to sit there forever (and I was happy to keep it forever) but I’m beginning to suspect that it's not happy afterall.
You see, I was trying to keep it safe, to keep it from growing up and leaving me as so many other pieces had. To keep it away from rough use, from spilled coffee and pens without caps. But the more I looked at this little piece, the more I felt its unhappiness.
Now I realize that while some fabrics are content to sit on my shelves, smiling at me day after day, some fabrics would much rather see the world. Some fabrics long for adventure, to be admired, to be useful. That’s not to say this fabric doesn’t love me, that it wouldn’t stay with me forever if I asked it to. But if I truly loved it, could I really ask it to stay?
In my heart I knew the right answer. I had to set it free before I lost my nerve, before I could think about the dangers awaiting such a tiny piece of fabric, such a vulnerable and sweet little scrap. I spent most of the day yesterday pulling other willing scraps from the bin and letting them tell me what they wanted to be:
I was afraid that they’d turn into something I wouldn’t understand, something so different from me that we wouldn't be able to connect as we used to. I would always love them but I worried that I wouldn't be able to make them happy anymore.
All my worries were for nothing. These scraps have gone out on their own, they grew up and I love them even more than ever.
I set them free and they came back.