It's incredibly easy for us to forget that we are not our jobs, our commitments, our to-do lists. Even for those of us lucky enough to do creative work for a living (and I am very aware of how fortunate I am in my work) rarely remember who we are. Or were. I think it's only when we create for ourselves, for our private selves, that we tap into the current of our own inherent ability to channel...something.
When we pick up hand work--whether gardening, knitting, whittling, writing longhand, building, carving, kneading, or sewing--we enter the slipstream of our ancestry, and there's something concrete there, something reassuring. It reminds us that we have at our fingertips (quite literally in this case) a wealth of knowledge beyond any book, any tutorial. These ghosts are our teachers, and they remind us that we are more human than machine.
Machines aren't meant for the long haul, for this long life. They are not self-regenerating, and they are not built with keen intelligence and deep, reverberating intuition. We are not what we make. We are what we create.