Learning to spin on a Tibetan Spindle . . . the Zen of Trust

Some time back I decided I had to learn to spin on a supported spindle. So, being me, I bought a Tibetan Spindle from Neal Brand. And it sat in the spindle cabinet while I got used to the idea of it. Part of the getting used to it process involved watching anything I could find on YouTube that involved supported spindling, including Fleegle's excellent videos, more than once.
     Last month, I took the spindle out of the cabinet and tried spinning some angora fluff on it. That didn't work well. More viewing of Fleegle's videos ensued. The spindle went back in the cabinet (mostly so I didn't throw it at the wall). I stayed with my drop spindles and completed the October Spinner's challenge on Ravelry.
     This month, more viewing of Fleegle's videos. And finally, something clicked:

Alpaca, merino silk batt from The Cupcake Fiber Co. 

 Peaches is being remarkably patient posing as a support for the supported spindle. Not long after I snapped the picture, he flexed his meathooks and began to make motions toward the spindle. It went safely back into the spindle cabinet, and he and I ate our youghurt.
     Supported spinning calls for long-draw drafting, and that's something I've struggled with for, like, ever. My left hand wants to clamp down on the fluffly fibers in a death grip. And as I'm thinking about it, my right hand really does as well. This could explain the pinched nerve sensation in my neck on the right side, and the ache in my left wrist (although that could be due to upcoming snow -- the titanium plate tends to make the wrist sensitive to such things).
     Last night was a little different. I started out tense and clamping down, and of course the spinning was neither easy nor fun. I finally relaxed a little and suddenly the long-draw began to happen. And even more rewarding, I was able -- finally -- to flick the spindle and manipulate the yarn with both hands while the spindle did it's own thing. Now, granted, it's with nowhere near the fluency and grace that Fleegle has . . . but then, my friend Sara said it best: "the only thing you start at top with is a post hole."
     I spun for about an hour, ending on a good note (i.e. the point at which I took the picture of the growing cop and spindle resting against the Mighty Peaches). Then I fiddled around with windows updates, and went googling for Tibetan spindles. (Yes, I know; I have one . . . but they're like Lay's potato chips . . .) I didn't find a hot-to-go spindle, but I did find a little blog about spinning on supported spindles that I didn't think to bookmark, I just internalized. The author talked about the difference between drop spindles and supported spindles, and made the most excellent point that spinning on a supported spindle requires one to let go a little bit and relax into the spinning.
     What I extracted from that parallels the philosophy I had as a professional psychotherapist: trust the process. In a world that is becoming increasingly results-oriented, research-based, outcomes measured, quantified, qualified and rationalized, the process seems to be taking an increasingly small role. We focus on solutions and end-results and push students in schools harder and faster, put more and more pressure on teachers, therapists, clerical staff, janitors . . . outcomes, outcomes, outcomes. Yes, well. I'd like the outcome of really well-spun yarn on my Tibetan spindle, and someday I'll get that. What I've got going now is not too bad . . . and it will improve with time and practice. What won't improve it is me focusing so hard (and gripping so hard) on the end result that I ignore the process of getting to that yarn.