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This summer, my son and I decided to take a walk around our new neighbourhood. It would turn out to be a walk of whimsy—a state we have both been trying to lean into more—wandering into stores we had passed by several times, checking out community noticeboards and libraries (city and street), listening to someone play a parklet piano: no design or destination needed.
Mid-stroll, we found ourselves in a yarn shop. It cannot be stated strongly enough how unusual a situation this is: ours is not a crafty, handmade kind of family. And yet this unexpected foray would generate a purchase that dominated our time together over the coming weeks.
This purchase was only loosely impetuous: we had been chatting about how hard it is to put our phones down and leave them untouched. That focusing on something—anything—without the constant itch to check and scroll was destroying our ability to be immersed and present. Knowing we are hardly alone in this was no comfort.
We looked at balls of wool, knitting patterns, and reams of colourful thread and then happened upon a selection of embroidery starter packs. We checked more closely and came to the conclusion that this was something that we might be able to do. The pack held everything we would need: fabric with a printed pattern to follow, embroidery hoops to hold it taut, thread, needle, and sewing instructions. Simple.
The store assistant was less certain when I showed her the cute, intricate design of an opened tin holding a neat row of sardines I had chosen. This was, she pointed out, an “ambitious beginner” set. I’m not sure how she sensed my natural lack of competence around the decorative arts, but there it was. My son’s “absolute beginner” pack of a cat with balls of wool passed muster, and I grudgingly found a blue heron that was also considered suitable for a total novice.
On the eve of my son’s return to university, we are perhaps two-thirds along our respective animal scenes. So far it’s all been backstitch—the trickier bits are yet to come (although threading the damned needle is often my biggest frustration). Has it helped? Yes. We have put our phones aside for an hour or more at a time and concentrated on a single task at least three times a week for a month. It may not sound like much, but it’s a start. And as a pair of perfectionists who avoid activities we aren’t sure we can succeed in, we have begun to enjoy doing something for no reason other than the calmness total focus brings, even if we are yet to fully “embrace the imperfections” encouraged in the instructions.
This issue contains several stories with focus, patience, and a desire to create or be present at their core, from the impassioned design history of Lamborghini’s classic Miura to Nantes in France, where producing and displaying art is part of the heartbeat of the city. We talk to Vancouver Opera as they begin a new season devoted to Italian works and devise new ways to entice new audiences, and we visit farmers, food producers, and chefs in Quebec whose passion for the land and its bounty creates a compelling culinary point of view.
A deep understanding and respect for this land meant that when the waters of B.C.’s Central Coast began showing signs of ecological change, First Nations communities noticed. We explore the dedicated work that, after decades of concern and deep consultation, has resulted in a new marine conservation area. Leadership can take many forms, and in a new book that we excerpt here, former minister of justice Jody Wilson-Raybould argues that our ideas of what good leadership is needs a refresh in these challenging times.
A blast of optimism is something we could all use as part of our daily routines, and the British band Jungle brings it and then some. We talk to the gloriously upbeat modern soul collective as they prepare for their international tour ready to share their new album, Sunshine. Put it on your playlist and start your day filled with joy.
