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My grandmother died last week. I called her Nanny. 

She was quiet, kind, and humble. She was also the most incredible artist I’ve ever met. 

Nanny dabbled in many mediums, but her true genius manifested in her quilts. She rarely used a sewing machine, preferring the artistry and nuance of hand stitching. 

Seriously, her pieces are incredible.

I’d loved talking to Nanny about her art. Every time I’d visit her in Texas she’d show me what she was working on — she was very modest and didn’t like to show off her work, but I just loved seeing her quilts in progress. 

I’d ask her lots of questions. Mostly, I was curious to know how long these massive hand stitched pieces of art would take her to make. 

I’ve been reflecting on her answer to that question since she passed. For some reason, I’m hearing her more clearly now than I ever did before. 

“I have no clue how long it takes. I just pick it up and work when I’m inspired or motivated. I may put it down for months at a time, pivot to something else, come back to it years later. I’m really not sure! I don’t keep track. I just know it’s here when I want to see it and one day it’s complete.” 

She didn’t grind. She didn’t judge herself for being slow. She didn’t measure herself against other people’s time tables. 

All of the lessons I’ve been learning to implement in my own life, the messages I want to share with you, I think I learned by osmosis from my Nanny.  

I can create beautiful things without overwhelming myself. I can rest and work only when feeling inspired and motivated. I’m doing this work because it makes me feel good — it’s a happy coincidence that it helps other people too. 

I will miss my Nanny. I hope to honor her memory by showing up with the same slow, thoughtful, and kind energy that she modeled for me.