Slow Work

One of my neuroses is worrying that I am too slow. 

I wish I didn't, but I worry even though I don't believe that speed is a virtue;
even though I know "slow" and "fast" don't exist, objectively, they are only comparisons; 
and even though my heart loves and I embrace the philosophy in this graffiti from Camino (photo by bink):
GOOD SPEED IS YOUR SPEED.

My speed is comparatively slow, and in my American culture, slow is definitely seen as the loser.

I'd say that's the case not just in corporate culture but in many social-change movements too. There are powerful arguments for the need for speed, of course, when we're facing something objective like global climate melt-down:
Stop Driving NOW! or facing Nazis: "Punch Them!" [not my advice]

While instant change would be best, exhorting people to radical change doesn't work very well, so far as I can see---people may feel bad but after a short time, we go on driving our cars, buying new clothes and too much food, joining groups that promise power and meaning at the cost of peace, and whatnot (until we can't).

Changing hearts and minds is soooo slow. 
Maybe we can't afford the time? 
Maybe we'll all be swept away? 
I don't know, but it could pay forward.

The other afternoon I was sitting in the community garden and I overheard this snippet:

"Look--this patch is a children's garden."

"That's good: teach kids to grow food so they'll know how after the apocalypse."

(Isn't it weird that this is a normal modern conversation? At least in my neck of the [urban] woods it is.)

Sewing is one of those slow-change things.
Darning and repairing clothes, for instance, would reduce the need for new clothes now,  (per the Economist: "making 1 kg of fabric generated 23 kg of greenhouse gases on average") and it's definitely something that would be useful to know how, post-apocalypse.

Also, it's empowering––it gives a sense of agency: 
 to see something you've made, something useful and even attractive or interesting: I made this! I exist!

I feel like in modern life, basic human actions can seem so unnecessary, it can cause depression. 
That's part of the attraction of post-apocalyptic stories, right? Like the Boxcar Children, they're stories about how we could survive on our own, with just our wits and a spoon. Everyone and their little skills would be needed.

Today I was excited to see this post "The School of Gentle Protest: Inner Activism" (from March) on the blog Tom of Holland: The Visible Mending Programme: making and re-making.

The School of Gentle Protest promotes tough-minded, tender-hearted craftivism: activism through sewing and other crafts. 
Led by Sarah Corbett [her TEDx talk on craftivism], the School offers a free a 6-week curriculum on YouTube ["Lesson 1: What is Gentle Protest?"]. 

Corbett says: 

"I became a Craftivist because I had become a burnt out activist. I grew up in a low-income area of Liverpool, and aged just 3, I was joining my parents and community in their campaigning. I went on to become a professional campaigner but I’m an introvert, and so many traditional forms of activism drained me. And I didn’t like demonizing people or telling them what to do.

"One day I picked up a craft kit for a long train journey. Stitching immediately calmed me down. It helped me think more clearly and it felt empowering. People asked me questions about what I was making. I began to leave small pieces of provocative street art in my area, and those pieces started conversations on and offline. I embroidered a hanky as a gift for my local politician with a personal message. It felt much more respectful than shouting at her. We became critical friends rather than aggressive enemies. "

This sort of thing is accused of being the province of privilege, and it sure can be [ohgod, so precious...], but the School points out:

"Gentle protest has been used effectively throughout history for long term change by people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela - they never demonised anyone and not only helped change laws but also hearts and minds."

But even if it's a pipe dream that repairing cloth could repair the world, if you have the choice it's a lot nicer thing to do than joining a nasty group.

At any rate, I am my own material; I can only work with who I am and what I have, at the speed I go. May as well see the virtue in that.