This is the part where I always want to give up.  Piece after piece of fabric to sew together.  Little blocks of color lined up together.  Nothing seems to move forward.  It’s just endless repetition of the same.

And all I want to do is stop repeating.

Oh.  I don’t admit that I’m giving up.  I’ll just put it aside for a minute.  I’ll be right back to it.  I’m just going to start this other thing and then finish it up.


My excitement for a project, if plotted on a graph, would create appropriate decor for any math room.  There is nothing like the crest of a new project.  I am all planning and scheming and I have energy to spare.  Then, I begin the work.  Somewhere in the slogging through the mucky middle, I lose my energy and I’m just in the rut of repeating.  All the glitter has worn off and I’m left with the reality of picking up a piece and sewing it on to the last piece.  Again.

Dancing on the periphery of my mind there are always new projects.  Something shiny and promising and alluring, trying to hijack my attention.  In these moments of monotony, they are tempting me with the thrill of beginning.  

I have two choices.  I can give in (oh, how I love to give in) and chase the excitement of something new.  Or, I can ignore their inticements and keep on plodding.  I can keep repeating.

I know that the latter is the way to get my project completed.  But, what if it’s more than that?


What if this repetition isn’t just the way I get things done? 

What if happiness lives in these cracks between the moment when I pick up another piece and sew it in place?  
Brown the ground beef.
Drive to the school.
Fold the towels.
Write the words.


What if happiness isn’t in the big moments and what if it isn’t even in the thrill of starting something new or finishing something grand?  What if it is right here?  In the quiet, unheralded repetition?

Somehow, considering this idea, isn’t disappointing to me.  I don’t feel sad at the prospect of a lifetime of repetition.  Somehow it feels powerful and ennobling.  To know that Life isn’t in the chasing after the next thing.  It isn’t in the chasing at all.  It is in this persisting.  It is in this quiet act of picking up the next piece and fixing it into place.