This blog post is the twelfth installment of a series called “A Tangible Challenge” where each month I take one in-person class related to something I know nothing about. The goal is to step outside my comfort zone and create something new. I am so excited to share this month’s endeavor: looming. (Read January’s adventure in pottery; February’s adventure in plants; March’s adventure in mosaic art lamps; April’s adventure in dumplings; May’s adventures in candles; June’s adventure in embroidery; July’s adventure in soap, August’s adventure in painted shells, September’s adventure in perfume making, October’s adventure in printmaking, and November’s adventure in woodworking here.)
“I might go looming tomorrow!” I shouted over the bar DJ who, seeing our group, had just run through five birthday songs in a row. “Do you want to come?”
Simply put, December had gotten away from me. Competing priorities. Work busyness. Upcoming travel. Before I blinked, I was only a few days from returning to Western Pennsylvania and while I love my hometown, I loathe driving in Pittsburgh and therefore found myself in urgent need of a class.
I was only one learning experience away from hitting my 2024 goal of taking a monthly in-person class about something I knew nothing about. But with ever shifting calendars, I realized it was now or never. The morning after the birthday party, I woke up and decided this would be a double new thing—looming and waking up and deciding to do a spontaneous solo mission while my end of year to-do list waited at home.
That’s how I ended up walking to my ferry stop in Queens and taking a 4 minute ride across the East River to the Upper East Side of Manhattan and to Loop of the Loom, who, per their website, is a peaceful retreat from the city’s hustle and bustle where you can connect with your true self through freeform weaving and play with unlimited colors and textures to create unique textile art.
Since my preliminary research earlier this year, Loop of the Loom had been on my radar, but I didn’t know what to expect. Nor did I expect to be (literally) running late from the dock to the building. I slowed myself on the last block so I could catch my breath and not pant into the studio. Which was a good thing given the immediate peace I would have disrupted.
When I walked in, I was instructed to remove my shoes, hang up my belongings, and clean my hands. Meditative music filled the space and I willed myself to catch my breath wondering how a lifetime of distance running did seemingly nothing to support my 4 block sprint.
On the run over, I thought about another way this was extra new: I was alone. Every other class this year has served as an intentional opportunity to connect with friends. (Okay, except for that time in April my friend and I signed up for different classes by mistake. Who knew there would be two dumpling making classes in midtown Manhattan at the same time on the same day!)
I’ve been so grateful for the way friends have jumped into this challenge with me, finding classes of their own to invite me to, sharing new recommendations. But something felt poetic and beautiful about doing this last one solo. It reminded me why I started this in the first place.
When I first moved to New York City in January 2016, I was, in many ways, starting fresh. I had an older brother here and his friends took me in in many ways. But there was a lot I still needed to learn. One of those things was how to make friends as an adult in a new city. Another thing was how to be comfortable being alone.
My first October here, there was a ferry that ran from New York City to Sleepy Hollow. It was affordable and spooky and seemed like an unbelievably cool experience. I tried to coordinate friends to come but it never worked out with any of our schedules and, because I didn’t want to go alone, I never did.
There’s always next year.
Except there wasn’t. Each year I look for the special Halloween ferry and each year I only find an article from that 2016 run.
I thought about Sleepy Hollow as I sat on another ferry feeling a momentary nudge of anxiety. Would it be the kind of class where everyone is with a friend or sharing a station and I feel like the odd one out? Would it be the kind of thing where I wish I had experienced it with a friend after the fact? Maybe. Those things do happen. But would I have more regret if I never did it? Will I always wonder about Sleepy Hollow?
Back in the present, I walked into the studio to find another instructor and another student, already looming with expertise. The first instructor gestured to the loom, a wooden device with yarn and pedals that felt like from another era entirely.
“It’s like riding a bike,” she told me, gesturing to the pedals. I chose my first yarn and learned the motion of weaving the yarn in, pulling the bar, switching my pedals. When that yarn ran out, I was directed to a wall of colors and textures and sizes. I learned how to re-thread my bobbin with a hand crank (similar and different from my electric sewing machine all at the same time).
And then I loomed.
I sat in silence with the other solo attendee, the only sound being squeaks from the looming machine and the meditative music coming from speakers I never saw.
It’s been an especially busy couple weeks. And, as someone who travels for the December holidays, I often find myself sorting my list into “must do before I leave” and “can do in hometown.” As I moved through my day, I was horrified to see the “must do before I leave” list growing rather than shrinking.
It feels counterintuitive then to wake up with a list of to-dos and disregard it for a loom. But something in that two hour break released my brain. It made me want to linger under the full moon on the walk home. It made me trust that all things will get done in due time. It reminded me that life is supposed to be fun and carefree. That everything always works out in the end.
My time at Loop of the Loom was a joy. So much so that when I returned home, I began to joke with my partner about buying a loom. (Reader: we are not buying a loom.) But we did hang the tapestry on our wall.
It hasn’t been hanging up long, but already each time I walk past it, it serves as a reminder to breathe deeply. And it serves as a reminder of the year I prioritized learning for fun and discovery for joy.
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