One year, I decided my new year’s resolution would be to learn how to make clothes. I purged my closet, separating things to keep from things to give away from things to use as fabric. I got a big bin and started to fill it with the ripped pants and stained shirts and ratty bandanas. I found materials around the house and around town and the design team put out a big basket of different leathers at work. I collected them all, and I put them in the bin.

The intention was to take all these old things, these discarded things, and make something new. The intention was to hone a hobby that would allow my creative juices to flow a bit more. The intention was to create something unique. All I needed was a sewing machine.

As time passed, I kept filling the bin and making notes of different projects and pieces to work on. Seasons changed, and I purged my closet again. A shirt I thrifted had a hole I didn’t notice at first, an upholstered chair was left on the corner, I found clothes left by an old girlfriend under my bed. Bin, bin, bin, bin.

Now, the bin is full, and I still haven’t bought a sewing machine.