Embracing Uncertainty
This year has been a period of less teaching for me. I intentionally made space in my schedule for things to slow down a bit, to think about what the next decade of my business might look like, to return to my writing as a way of helping me to process ideas. A friend recently described this as “liminal” — meaning a place of transition. Theodora Blanchfield defines it this way: “Liminal spaces are the uncertain transitions between where you’ve been and where you’re going physically, emotionally, or metaphorically. To be in a liminal space means to be on the precipice of something new but not quite there yet.”
These transition spaces can be uncomfortable. It’s tempting to feel like you need to come up with some goals, a plan, clearly defined steps to get you safely to a specific destination. As I continue to work on this blog and how the ideas underpinning The Hands Manifesto might be intertwined with my embroidery business, I've had numerous thoughts on ways I can move forward. Each has merit in its own way, but all require a significant investment of time and energy and resources. And so I find myself asking questions to try and get a better handle on the best option to choose. What is the outcome of all this work? How do I want people to feel or act as a result of my work? Which of the myriad paths should I choose to give me the surest path to making an impact?
It’s exciting — but also a little bit stressful.
Hold on Ann-Marie. Pause, breathe, slow down for a beat — or three.
What if there is another way to look at this?
Several years ago, I had a long talk to one of my oldest friends on this very topic. I was distressed that long COVID had interrupted my work on all fronts. As we sat in a coffee shop in Adelaide, the tears were flowing because my writing had dried up, I didn’t have the time or energy to do my research, and I couldn’t see how there were ever going to be any outcomes for The Hands Manifesto. And in her very kind and wise way my friend said, “Maybe there doesn’t need to be an outcome”. That stopped me in my tracks. Not least because I recognised the exquisite irony of her words - because in my very first blog post here, I wrote the following:
“Whilst modern machines can replicate the products people once made with their hands, they can’t replace the extraordinary intellectual and creative benefits we gain from the making process. Put another way, machines can churn out multiple copies of the destination but they can’t help us to experience the journey.”
Here I was, tying myself in knots about the destination, about the outcome of this work, when what really mattered was that I simply keep doing it — following the paths of enquiry, staying curious, planting seeds and then weeding as required. I had fallen into the trap of allowing perceived societal expectations of achievement to override my own personal philosophy!
It is fair to say that in Western society we are very wedded to goals and outcomes. The marks we achieve on exams, the amount of money we earn, where we live, the status of our chosen career, whether we are in a “successful” relationship or not, how well our children are doing, how many friends or followers we have on social media, what our productivity metrics look like, even how many steps we have taken today! The list of outcomes or goal-based achievements go on and on. We are conditioned to believe that these are the things for which we should strive. And as soon as one destination is reached, we are urged to head straight for the next one, post haste - so much so that we've lost sight of the value in simply continuing to play.
This tension between destination and journey is something that Simon Sinek explores beautifully in his book, "The Infinite Game." He contrasts finite and infinite games as a way of thinking about how we operate in life and business. “Finite games are played by known players…have fixed rules…and there is an agreed objective that, when reached, ends the game”. For example, formal schooling could be considered a finite game in the sense that it has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and the goal is to pass a series of courses to some predetermined standard. There are also “winners” and “losers” in the game of schooling — some get higher marks than others.
Infinite games by contrast have “infinite time horizons…and there is no such thing as ‘winning’…the primary objective is to keep playing”. Education then is an infinite game. It’s about lifelong learning that never ends. As Sinek puts it, “No matter how successful we are in life, when we die, none of us will be declared the winner of life…these things are journeys, not events.”
Sinek took inspiration for this work from an earlier book, “Finite and Infinite Games”, by James P Carse. Whereas Sinek’s book has a strong business focus, Carse takes a more deeply philosophical approach. He notes that finite games can be embedded in infinite games, but “infinite players regard their wins and losses…as but moments in continuing play…The joyfulness of infinite play, its laughter, lies in learning to start something we cannot finish.”
Just stop and dwell on those words for a little longer — “learning to start something we cannot finish”.
Making things with my hands, creating things, is a beautiful example of small finite games within an infinite game mindset. I almost never draw or sketch something out before I start stitching. I know the size and shape of the intended piece, maybe some kind of framework for dividing this area into smaller workable regions, and a colour scheme. The final design that emerges nearly always contains elements that are a surprise to me — the result of a thought that popped into my head whilst hanging out the washing, or a happy juxtaposition of stitches that turns into something even more interesting. It’s a process I’ve grown to love over time. I’ve become comfortable with knowing that each small game will include the discomfort of liminality — uncertain of where it’s going, a transition from blank canvas and tidy skeins to a complex interweaving of geometry, colour and texture. The “win” is simply finishing the design.
The raw materials for my latest design. I don’t know what it will look like yet!
Completion though, following Carse’s idea, is only a tiny part of the much bigger infinite game - my constant growth and evolution as an embroidery artisan and teacher. Almost as soon as I have finished something, I am excitedly looking forward to the next project. With every new project I stretch and strengthen my creativity, improve my skills as an embroiderer, and conjure up new ways of encouraging creative confidence in my students. But I will never be the “best embroiderer” (whatever that even means), because there will always be more for me to learn.
So why did I fall into the trap of not playing the infinite game with The Hands Manifesto? Why did I feel the need to define an outcome, instead of applying the infinite game mindset and trusting a process that has worked extremely well for me over the past thirteen years? I'm not entirely sure.
Beautiful Stitches has always had an element of playfulness to it. The business looks very different now to what I imagined it would be when I started. Everything along the way has been an experiment - keep what works and discard what doesn't. It rarely meets the metrics of success as defined by the western capitalist system, but I've kept dancing between hands, head and heart to bring joy and creative confidence to both myself and my students.
The Hands Manifesto has been more head centred. She was trying very hard to be the "serious" voice in the room. To bring the weighty evidence of science to the table, to make sure that she would be heard. I have felt some pressure to legitimise this work through academic rigor, to prove its worth through research and citations rather than trusting in the inherent wisdom of the making process itself.
But maybe her strength will come from sitting very firmly in the liminal and remembering to learn from the Beautiful Stitches experience - stay playful, curious and experimental. What if The Hands Manifesto could embody the same spirit of discovery that happens when I pick up needle and thread with no predetermined pattern? What if she trusted the process as much as I trust my embroidery to reveal itself stitch by stitch?
Because sometimes, maybe oftentimes, the most rewarding journeys are the ones where you couldn't possibly have predicted the outcome. If someone had told my 16 year old self that she would spend the second half of her life running a creative business and advocating for the importance of handwork, she probably wouldn't have believed them. But nor did she have any inkling of just how incredibly rewarding that journey would be.
So here I am, really starting to embrace the profound sense of possibility that can be found in my friend's gentle wisdom: "Maybe there doesn't need to be an outcome." The Hands Manifesto isn't destined to arrive somewhere specific - it's meant to keep weaving itself into existence, one curious thought, one planted seed, one moment of creative discovery at a time. The outcome was never the point. The continuation is everything.
This Week’s References
The Infinite Game by Simon Sinek, Penguin UK, 2020.
Finite and Infinite Games by James P Carse, The Free Press, 1986.
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