Ok, I’ll own it. I knit. I actually have a lot of hobbies, none of which get nearly enough time or focus. Knitting is the one that’s in my face though. I’ve always got a bag of super soft yarn sitting in a bag next to my couch, begging me to pick it up and make just a little progress.
I started when I was in high school. My mom taught me, and it became one of those weirdly unique talents that allowed me to create personal gifts for people - typically boyfriends - as a way to show I cared. And it also became a running joke in my family. I was always partial to long term relationships, so someone always ended up with a sweater. But literally within a month or two of receipt, the relationship was over. When E and I got serious, my parents mocked me with “DO NOT knit him one!” And I never did.
So now, with incredibly limited time, I’ve become partial to blankets for babies. They only take a few days to make, and the parents seem to be pretty happy to receive something a little different. I then end up going all Martha Stewart on the packaging just to make it look extra special. And then I think I’m out of my mind at the end and wonder why I don’t going out and purchase an outfit like everyone else and save myself hours of my precious time.
I think the answer is pretty core to two traits in my personality. For one, I feel guilty for sitting still. I literally cannot sit and watch television like a normal person. I need to be knitting, reading, working, or doing “something productive,” or I feel like I am wasting my time. The only time this isn’t the case if I am physically in a movie theater, where I really feel like I am escaping.
The other weird trait it symbolizes seems to be my need to max everything out that I do. I’m not sure why I do this. Perhaps it’s because I if I think I can, I will try? I seem to do this with everything in my life. If I cook, I’ll pick a recipe I might not even eat myself, but something I think the people I’m cooking for might really enjoy. If I’m knitting, I’ll stay up late completing X number of inches before I allow myself to go to bed. If I’m sketching, I’ll work for hours just trying to get a small element right, because I’m just not that talented but need to see progress. And of course now, though I’ve never written before, I’ve set this insane goal of writing every day for a year in front of me. Another goal that at the time seemed to have a great intention, but quite restrictive in terms of timing and what I need to commit to it.
So far, over this past month and a half, I’ve mostly enjoyed this process of writing. I’ve learned a lot about myself and it’s sparked some interesting discussions with those of you who have chosen to follow this experiment. But writing every single day, as a single mother with a big job - that might have been slightly stupid. And yet, a very me thing to do.
So wish me luck making it through the next 322 days. I’m finding this both exhausting and interesting. The way most of my life is. So I must be on the right track…
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