Mending magic

Have you noticed that if you mend something, it often feels more precious afterwards?

There is some magic in mending. I think it goes like this:

Something gets broken, or torn, or worn through. You consider getting rid of it. Sometimes this will make you sad and you decide you can't part with it, and mend it instead.

By choosing to mend you are consciously recognising the object's worth, perhaps for its own sake, perhaps for the times you've had with it, perhaps a blend of the two.

In the act of mending, you make this explicit. You pledge your time and effort to your relationship with the item. I think, by not simply replacing the mug, or the jeans, you acknowledge the separate identity and value of the item, its beinghood. It may not be alive, but it is starting to shade into agency and to become a player in your life. It asked something of you, and you answered the call.

I have also noticed this during times in my life when money was pretty tight, and mending wasn't a declaration of love, but of need. I often liked the jeans better after patching than before. They had become more personal, they had something of me stitched into them. I have even felt a flicker of this this about sharpened pencils (it always seems to be a major production to find the pencil sharpener, which might explain why).

You give things life by mending them. The mend does not have to be tailored and invisible. Indeed, the animating power of mending benefits from some level of visibility. When you publicly confirm your commitment to the item for all to see, it's like a wedding.

To a lesser extent this is also true of cleaning. Check out 'boro' and 'kintsugi' on the internet, you'll get lots of beautiful images of humble items mended, and better for it. Nothing is permanent, nothing is finished, nothing is perfect. And that is an invitation to dance.