Unconventional Therapy: Knitting
When my grandmother passed away in September, I decided it was long past time for me to fully realize a long-time goal - learning to knit.
In reality, my grandmother was more into crochet. In earlier years I know she also made lace and lacework tablecloths but in her later years the focus was on crochet projects. Cozy afghans and beautiful baby blankets and the Christmas placemats I put out on my table each year. I had always meant to learn from her, and had attempted it once, but never succeeded.
So in October I signed up for, and successfully completed, a knitting class at a local yarn shop. I quickly fell in love with the click of the needles, the soft touch of the yarn and the feel of watching the slow, steady development of something handmade and heartfelt.
Next month I begin a new knitting class - the second installment. Last time I made a scarf and this time it's a purse and a hat (this last using double-pointed needles - which look more like weapons than crafting tools). Since my last class I have made a stack of washcloths, a small quick-stitch afghan, a credit card case, and a baby hat. (I have bought yarn and patterns for many more projects but, ya know, I'm not exactly the world's fastest knitter.)
Which leads me to what I have learned from knitting - you don't always have to be good at something to enjoy it. This has long been my downfall. I lost all interest in sports when I realized I sucked at them. I struggled with sewing and quickly set it aside. I never wanted to face the critism that comes with putting forth effort and still being less-than-talented. But something about this time in my life, and this particular craft, has taught me that which I have never before been able to learn.
Joy in the attempt. Pride in the effort. And forgiveness of the product.
I have never been able to accept my own faults very well. Those things which I have not done with skill, I have eventually just not done at all. But perhaps, something about learning to accept those things about my life, and life in general, that I do not like but can not change, has helped me to learn to accept those nicks and cracks that I know are even in my very self.
Perhaps it is a first step to quieting the ever-nagging inner voice. One can hope.
In reality, my grandmother was more into crochet. In earlier years I know she also made lace and lacework tablecloths but in her later years the focus was on crochet projects. Cozy afghans and beautiful baby blankets and the Christmas placemats I put out on my table each year. I had always meant to learn from her, and had attempted it once, but never succeeded.
So in October I signed up for, and successfully completed, a knitting class at a local yarn shop. I quickly fell in love with the click of the needles, the soft touch of the yarn and the feel of watching the slow, steady development of something handmade and heartfelt.
Next month I begin a new knitting class - the second installment. Last time I made a scarf and this time it's a purse and a hat (this last using double-pointed needles - which look more like weapons than crafting tools). Since my last class I have made a stack of washcloths, a small quick-stitch afghan, a credit card case, and a baby hat. (I have bought yarn and patterns for many more projects but, ya know, I'm not exactly the world's fastest knitter.)
Which leads me to what I have learned from knitting - you don't always have to be good at something to enjoy it. This has long been my downfall. I lost all interest in sports when I realized I sucked at them. I struggled with sewing and quickly set it aside. I never wanted to face the critism that comes with putting forth effort and still being less-than-talented. But something about this time in my life, and this particular craft, has taught me that which I have never before been able to learn.
Joy in the attempt. Pride in the effort. And forgiveness of the product.
I have never been able to accept my own faults very well. Those things which I have not done with skill, I have eventually just not done at all. But perhaps, something about learning to accept those things about my life, and life in general, that I do not like but can not change, has helped me to learn to accept those nicks and cracks that I know are even in my very self.
Perhaps it is a first step to quieting the ever-nagging inner voice. One can hope.