About a million years ago I was living in NYC and
my boyfriend’s mother came to visit from Canada. While she was with us we got
one of those spectacular snowstorms that hushes the city into a serene white
wonderland. She spent the weekend on our
futon couch listening to the radio and working on the knitting project she had
brought with her…a wool fair isle sweater with a yoke woven from brilliant
greens and blues. I watched in awe as her needles clicked. I had never seen
anything more magical. We pulled on our snow boots and trudged around the
corner where I purchased my first set of knitting needles and some buttery soft
merino wool. I began knitting that day, and have never stopped.
Like nothing else that I know, knitting teaches
us process and patience. Thousands of stitches go into a sweater, and each one
must be knitted with the same care as the last. There are no short cuts, no
gimmicks, and no apps to make it go faster. And when you realize that you made
a mistake 8 inches ago, there is no reset button or white out. You stare at it,
go pour yourself a glass of wine, and then you rip it out and start again.
We live in a fast-paced world of deadlines, and I
take great pride in being a very efficient person. I like to get things done quickly
and cross them off my list. So why would I sit down and begin knitting a
sweater that I know won’t be completed for months?
Because, like a snowstorm, knitting forces me to
slow down. I follow my pattern slowly, line
by line, and move forward one stitch at a time. I am not thinking about being
done, but instead I am thinking about the friend’s baby I am knitting for, or
how good the yarn feels in my fingers, or how much more interesting football is
when you have a pile of colorful wool in your lap.
Knitting is one of things I do in life that keeps
me healthy, like going to the gym or eating kale. It provides an alternative
rhythm to the rest of my day, a welcome break from the never-ending pressure to
produce. Ask any knitter and they will say the same thing – the only thing
better than finishing a project is starting a new one.
xo~
xo~
e
Love this! It is all so true. Of course I'm the one who, when a mistake is made 8 rows ago and I can hardly see it 12 inches from my eyes, will pour a glass of wine and keep going!
ReplyDeleteAh yes the "you can't really see it" technique is often the most useful of all knitting techniques...
ReplyDelete