The DIY trend of the past few years (proliferated by Pinterest) likely began with an honest motive: the collective realization that handmade items can be beautiful, meaningful, and ingenious. Or maybe people discovered how fulfilling “making” can be. Yet, the more DIY tutorials I read–from making homemade yogurt to weaving lawn furniture–the more I’ve realized how easy it is to get lost in the DIY forest.

Let me tell you a story about a shower curtain.

When we moved into our apartment last year, I couldn’t find a shower curtain I liked. I bought three, then returned them all. Clicking through the internet quickly replaced most of my hobbies. My search revealed that my “perfect” shower curtain didn’t exist. What do you do when that happens? You DIY. Never mind the fact that even with my sewing machine, my stitches are wobbly at best and at worst, careen off the fabric entirely. Furthermore, I had no aspirations to be an accomplished shower curtain maker.

Undaunted, I went to a fabric store and bought five swatches of fabric. They hung on our towel bar for a week as I debated the merits of gray fleur-de-lis versus coral herringbone. (Color-related decisions can often paralyze me.) It was only then I discovered I couldn’t make a shower curtain from a single piece of fabric. The width of an average shower opening and the width of a typical bolt of fabric don’t match up. Around this same time, I stumbled across Spoonflower and wondered if I should design my ideal shower curtain fabric instead. When I began second-guessing my college major, I knew I had gone too far. (College ended nearly a decade ago. Too late to switch to Art.)

I was lost in the DIY forest.

I could’ve solved the original problem with a decisive 20-minute trip to Target. Instead, I now felt mounting pressure to learn textile design on top of perfecting the art of sewing a straight line. Rather than offer simplicity, the DIY route (and my own pride) had given me a bewilderingly complex solution to a simple problem. All my spare time and creative energy was being put towards an item that occupies the same room as a toilet. Instead of painting or writing or having big ideas, I was wasting my time on a skill I didn’t care to develop anyway.

Eventually, I bought a shower curtain online. It’s white and ruffled and mass-produced. It’s not going to change anyone’s life but it’s fantastic at keeping water off the bathroom floor. That’s the main purpose of a shower curtain. I forgot that for a few weeks.

The wonderful thing about the burgeoning do-it-yourself culture online is that you can learn to make nearly anything. The downside is that you may (like me) think you always should choose the DIY route. Since the shower curtain incident, I’ve wondered if the internet’s DIY oversaturation is responsible for diluting and depleting our creative energy. That was true for me. In the midst of pinning project after project, I lost my focus. If I was honest, what I really wanted was to sketch more regularly, not make a yarn wreath for every season. As a result, I’ve started to be more discerning about whether to make or buy. I’ve created a list of questions to ask myself before adding to my “miscellaneous craft supplies” stash. Consider it my compass:

1. Why do I want to make this project?

2. Does this project develop a skill I want or need?

3. Does this project cultivate a relationship? (Projects aren’t always about the end result but sharing the process with someone else.)

4.  How much does it cost to make versus buy?

5. Will I enjoy this project?

Obviously, this list functions as a guide rather than a litmus test. But when you’re lost in the woods, isn’t that what you need?