I got an email from a customer about a canvas she loves.

It’s big.

Really big.

And her question was essentially:

But will I ever finish it?

Oh, please.

That got me thinking about all the projects I’ve started over the years.

Am I ever going to finish them?

Absolutely not.

And here’s the really interesting part.

I never intended to finish some of them in the first place.

I have an extraordinary collection of partially stitched canvases. Some have a little stitching. Some have quite a lot. And some haven’t seen a needle in years.

Why?

Because I wanted to try something.

Maybe I had an idea for a stitch. Maybe I wanted to see how a particular thread behaved. Maybe I was experimenting with color, texture, or dimension.

I needed to know if it would work.

Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn’t.

Either way, I learned something.

And once I had my answer, I moved on.

It was an experiment, not a lifelong commitment.

Now, before someone points out that I sell needlepoint for a living and therefore have a vested interest in telling you it’s okay not to finish things, let me assure you that this isn’t about buying more.

It’s about giving ourselves a little grace.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that the only successful needlepoint project is a finished needlepoint project.

I don’t believe that.

Obviously I love finished pieces. I love seeing them framed, made into pillows, ornaments, stockings, and all the wonderful things we turn them into.

But finishing isn’t the only reason we stitch.

Sometimes a project is exactly what you need because it’s mindless.

Life is hard. Your brain is full. You don’t want to learn anything or count anything complicated. You just want to stitch.

That project is doing its job.

And sometimes you fall completely in love with a canvas.

You know exactly where it’s going to live and how you’re going to stitch it.

And then three years pass.

You’ve redecorated. The person it was going to be a gift for has moved to Portugal. You no longer like mauve.

Whatever.

Life happened.

That doesn’t mean the hours you spent stitching were wasted.

Maybe you spent 40-plus wonderful hours working on it. Maybe you learned three new stitches and discovered a thread you now use all the time.

Why have we decided none of that counts unless the thing eventually gets a pillow insert?

Needlepoint is very, very slow.

That’s part of its charm.

It’s also basic mathematics.

Look at the size of some of these canvases. We are simply not going to finish every canvas we fall in love with.

Particularly since we apparently have no intention of stopping falling in love with them.

And I’m okay with that.

What I’m not okay with is turning something that’s supposed to bring us pleasure into another obligation.

I can’t start this until I finish that.

I should finish this because I spent money on it.

Should you?

Do you still love it? Does stitching it make you happy? Are you learning something?

Great. Keep stitching.

But if every time you look at it you think, Ugh. I really should work on that, perhaps we’ve lost the plot.

This is needlepoint.

Nobody is grading us.

You’ve heard the saying, whoever dies with the biggest stash wins, right?

Well, between all my experiments and the projects I’ve fallen in love with over the years, I’m apparently determined to win.

And I’m perfectly fine with that.

Those unfinished experiments taught me things. They helped me make design decisions. They made me a better stitcher.

They did exactly what I needed them to do.

And maybe some of your unfinished projects have done the same thing for you.

Did they bring you joy?

Did you learn something?

Then perhaps they weren’t unfinished after all.