I’ve been sewing clothes and costumes for decades. But the truth is, I hate doing it.
It’s an act of will forcing myself to get through a project. I’ll sit at the sewing machine just staring at it with all sorts of hate juice pouring into it. I feel compelled to sew anyway.
I do it mainly because I love being able to make my own clothes and not be dependent on the latest fashions available at the prices I’m willing to pay.
It’s made me think about all the things I do regularly that I can’t stand doing. Almost everything.
The only things I love to do for its own sake are sculpt, paint, and play musical instruments. Everything else is it’s own sort of torture. Strangely, those things I love doing are the things I rarely get around to doing because when I do them, all bets are off. Nothing else gets done.
Even writing isn’t something I love doing. Actually, writing sucks. It’s hard. It makes me angry and incredibly frustrated. But I have to write. Life is intolerable without it.
I don’t like to cook but I sure like eating. I hate cleaning but love a clean house. I don’t like to compromise but I want to maintain my relationships. I really hate exercise but I like feeling good.
And on it goes.
My life is full of things I hate doing but do anyway because I like what comes out of it. What I’m still trying to decide is if this is just part of an “adulting” life of compromise, some sado-masochistic tendency, or an act of cowardice for putting up with things I can’t stand. I’m just not sure. I try to focus on the outcomes I enjoy and chalk the rest up to the price I have to pay to get what I want.