Autumn is my favorite season, even though it’s one with both anniversaries of happy moments like birthdays and difficult ones steeped in grief, not to mention all that the Jewish holidays bring to the table. There’s something about this time of year that feels full of possibility while also holding the weight of what we carry.

It’s also the season that most of us who love wool have been looking forward to. Why? It’s both easier to work with our favorite fibers and we can begin to wear and share our projects without melting. Most of the time, anyway. Anyone who has attended Rhinebeck in October knows that it can both snow and reach uncomfortable heat index levels on the same day. Today is only just mid-September so we’re only just in the early days.

However, there is often a downside to autumn’s arrival: I want to make all the woolly things I’ve been thinking about all summer. And I want to knit them all at once. This week I’ve been reviewing all my works in progress, and because I’ve had a mild case of start-itis, I’ve been casting on a few new projects too. It can be overwhelming when I tally up all the projects and realize I’ve run out of project bags and needles.

This sense of creative overwhelm has taught me the value of discernment. How do I continue to create through this change of seasons when my eye is already craving a more autumnal palette than the brights of spring and summer? Just because the calendar has changed, doesn’t mean I’ve finished with the summer cottons and silks. It comes down to a simple lesson: to be honest about which projects still spark something in me, and which ones don’t.

The Practice of Choosing

To those projects I feel a deep need to finish now, I focus my attention. Echoing the infamous words of Marie Kondo, if it no longer sparks joy, then I set the project aside. However, before I put a project into hibernation mode I take care of some maintenance tasks. This will ensure that when I return to the project it will be ready. First, I take careful notes about yarns, tools, pattern, where I am in the making, and some thoughts and feelings. Depending on the project I may put it on a stitch holder, I may change the project bag it’s in, and if it’s a woolen fiber, I add a moth-repelling sachet of lavender and cedar, just in case.

This isn’t abandonment or even quitting (stay tuned for a future post on ripping out unloved projects); it’s loving preservation. These hibernating projects deserve the same intention and care given to projects being actively being worked. They’re waiting for their right time, and there’s wisdom in recognizing when that season isn’t now.

Both-And in Creative Life

This seasonal transition embodies what I’ve come to understand as the both-and nature of my creative life. I can honor both my excitement for new projects and my commitment to existing ones. I can feel both the pull toward autumn colors and the satisfaction of finishing a summer project. Both starting and pausing can be acts of intention. And the feeling of finishing a project is one that should be celebrated! 

My projects, even the ones I set aside for now, carry their own weight. They hold the hours I spent with them, the conversations that happened and audiobooks read while my hands moved, the problems I worked through stitch by stitch. When their season comes again — whether that’s next month or next year — they’ll be ready. And it’s okay if I need to change what they are, that’s a decision for the future. It’s ok that I don’t have all the answers right now.

Seasonal Wisdom

Autumn reminds us it’s okay to let go, and that letting go often marks the start of something new. The trees do so as their leaves change color and fall; the process of letting go is what makes new growth possible.

As we gear up to autumn, as I feel pulled toward all the projects I’ve been dreaming about, I’m trying to practice the same trust. Some projects will continue now when the timing is right, and my hands are ready. Others will wait, carefully stored and lovingly noted, until their moment returns.

The creative overwhelm I feel each autumn isn’t a problem to solve. There will always be more to make than time to make it; that’s part of having an active creative life. I’ve found that a balanced creative practice lies in choosing mindfully what deserves attention now. I need to listen to why I’m starting many new projects and what I’m avoiding.

Whether we’re setting aside projects or starting new ones, the invitation remains the same: to honor what calls to us now and trust that what we set aside with care will be there when we’re ready to return.