The next day, I went to my local quilt shop. Not to buy anything. Just to... be around quilting without the guilt.
The owner, Margaret, noticed me standing in front of the premium fabric section without touching anything.
"Looking for something specific?" she asked.
"Just looking," I said.
She watched me for a moment. "Can I tell you something?"
I nodded.
"I've owned this shop for nineteen years," Margaret said. "And I can always tell the fabric hoarders. They come in, they touch everything, they buy beautiful fabric, and they never come back to show me what they made with it."
I felt my face flush.
"You know what the saddest part is?" she continued. "Fabric degrades. Colors fade from oxygen exposure. Fibers weaken over time. That expensive fabric you're saving? Every month you wait, it's worth less."
"But I'm going to use it," I said. "I just need to get better first. I don't want to ruin it with crooked cuts."
Margaret tilted her head. "How long have you been quilting?"
"Nine years."
"And you still can't cut straight?"
The question stung. But it was fair.
"I've tried everything," I said. "Different rulers. Watching tutorials. Practicing. But my cuts are always a little off. Especially when I'm nervous. And I'm always nervous with expensive fabric."
"Of course you are," Margaret said. "Your hand shakes when you're nervous. Everyone's does."