Cotton-Eyed Mojo
Where did you come from? Where did you go?
What is mojo and how does it find us and how do we lose it?
One definition of mojo is “magic power”. I would expand that to read “fickle magic power” for the sake of accuracy. Mojo regularly jilts me and leaves me totally uninterested in whatever my passion had previously been. Bear in mind that I am neurodivergent, have ADHD, and have difficulties with executive function so what I’m calling mojo might just be less magical and more the result of brain function. My personal definition of mojo has more to do with mood, motivation, and reward (or lack thereof). I see mojo as more of a creative force that lives in us and is sensitive to our brain’s proclivities. I often wonder if people with neurotypical brains experience the magic and misery of mojo.
Here are just a few facts about me and my crafting history. I am multicraftual, meaning I have a level of proficiency in several crafts (or arts): knitting, tatting, cross stitching reproduction schoolgirl samplers, traditional rug Hooking, quilting, sewing, tapestry weaving and more. I used to think I suffered from seasonal mojo, cross stitching in spring and summer, knitting in the fall and tatting in the winter with some of the other pursuits scattered here and there. I believed this until I retired and had time to pursue whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. This was when I returned to cross stitch with a vengeance for almost a year until the rug Hooking mojo kicked in for many months. Where did the cross stitching mojo go? And where did the rug hooking mojo come from? And where did the rug hooking mojo go (I haven’t touched a hook in two years)?
And some facts about my crafting style: I am a process crafter/artist not a project crafter/artist. While I might wish for the finished object, I derive more pleasure from the process than the finished project. This is so true that I have finished a fun knitting project, realized I was probably never going to use it and that no one on my gift list would appreciate it, and ripped it out only to cast on a new fun project with the same yarn. I regularly sort through my unfinished projects and salvage what I can of the materials and chuck out the rest to make space for new projects. Despite these honorable efforts to recycle the supplies, new supplies are being purchased at an alarming rate. All this probably has less to do with mojo and more to do with neurodivergence.
There are unfortunate consequences to creating at the mercy of your mojo. For instance, the massive numbers of unfinished projects and the vast amounts of money spent for underutilized instruction books, online classes, and appropriate supplies can create many kinds of havoc in your home. All these things need a place to live and you begin to think you’ll be a candidate for the next season of “Hoarders”.
And so I’m left with many questions. Do neurotypical folks experience vacillating mojo? Is my mojo just the victim of the “shiny squirrels” my ADHD thrives on chasing? Can you gain control over your mojo or must you live at its whim? Is there hope for the mastery of mojo?
And now for something ridiculously silly:
If it hadn’t been for Cotton-eyed Mojo
I’d have been finished a long time ago.
Where did you come from? Where did you go?
Where did you come from Cotton-eyed Mojo?
(You’re welcome for the obnoxious ear worm)