Fabric Store

I recently visited a fabric store. It is one of the few places I allow myself to 'touch'.

Early in life it was beat into me to keep my hands to myself. Either in my pockets or behind my back. While I've freed myself from many rules I was raised to follow, this one is hard for me to break. I struggle with it constantly. And the more I like what I see, the harder I fight not to touch. Perverse, I know. But it is a part of me.

I walked into the store and found my usual restraints slip away. Colors and textures bombarded my senses. And I felt free to explore them all. Release.

I went from bolt to bolt. Savoring the color and texture. Quickly moving past the fabrics that held no excitement for me, I would find one that would draw me in. I would stop and just stare. Trying to absorb everything about it. The depth of the color. Texture. Weave. I would catch myself getting lost in it, running my hands across it, over and over again. Like petting an animal. To remember how it felt under my fingers, and savor the emotions it generated. Total fixation.

Then my mind would begin to run. Thinking of all the things I could make with this piece of cloth. How could I have this material in my life and keep the essence of the emotions it created. To feed my need.

In the end, I left with nothing. I did not purchase a single cut of fabric. I think at this moment in my life, I do not have room for more. I need to enjoy what I have. Appreciate and love the gifts that I've been given.

And when I am ready, I know where there is more.