When the UK first entered lockdown, I’d just started a new self-care subscription from a mental health charity. Each month a surprise package encouraging relaxation, creativity, and reflection would be delivered to my door. I looked forward to the little treats: soy wax candles, a lavender rollerball, a bookmark topped with a satisfyingly fluffy pom-pom. It couldn’t have come at a better time.
My latest care box contains a small stack of marbled paper. “This month’s box is all about origami,” the welcome note read, in swirly font. Cool, I thought to myself. After work that evening, I set myself up with a mug of tea and the step-by-step instructions, ready to enter the calm zone. That was, until I began.
The first task, a cute paper box, went relatively smoothly, although the lid ended up too small. Rookie errors, no doubt. But when I moved onto the crane, a supposedly straightforward make, I got three steps in and became completely flummoxed. My points and edges were all mixed up, and what did “undoing folds” mean? Frowning, I reached for a fresh square of paper, and moved on to the lotus flower. Needless to say, the only thing that blossomed was my sense of frustration. Eventually, I admitted defeat.
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