No Knitting in 2013.
January 8, 2013 § 15 Comments
Carl Larsson, Blomsterfönstret
I do not know a more pitiful sight than to see a woman tatting, knitting, embroidering–working cats on the toe of some slipper, or tulips on an apron. The amount of nervous force that is expended in this way is enough to make angels weep.
- Elizabeth Cady Stanton, in a passage that has haunted me ever since I think I read it as an already-crafty little girl in So You Want Women to Vote, Lizzie Stanton?
It’s the night before school starts for me, which makes it as portentous a time as I can hope for. I’ve been feeling badly about my silence here, especially because that silence–which I’m now breaking–isn’t exactly without cause. My friends, 2013 will be the year in which I will not knit a stitch. (What now, old knitting blog old pal? You’re not exactly the travel blog you were born to be. You can be something else.)
I haven’t (recently) had some cataclysm of disenchantment, and stand here shocked, splattered with epiphanic muck. Nor have I lost the use of my hands in some unspeakable accident. But, over the past six months, I’ve lost the need to read knitting blogs, keep pace with my twitter feed, or know which patterns are in the Ravelry Top Five.
But it isn’t just Internet fatigue–it’s not just that I’m tired of trying to drink from this bundle of fire hoses. I’ve noticed that in my case–and I’m speaking only for myself–that that kind of knitting I find myself doing is a bad habit, a pernicious habit.
Them’s strong words. But hear me out.
It’s commonly been said (here, by me, all the time) that knitting is an apotropaic act–that it’s something we do in times of trial in order to keep hard times at bay. It’s something concrete and pragmatic to do in a crisis, a means of rehabilitation, and a welcome distraction from life’s other demands. It’s making warmth and building community.
It’s certainly been that for me. I didn’t want to move to a new town when I was 15, but couldn’t do anything about it, so I knit a bed worth of blanket squares. I was frustrated in love, so I knit a sweater. I worried about my research, so, instead, I knit a pair of socks. I was in love with another boy, so I knit a stuffed-animal cat and some stuffed-animal birds (true). I worried about traveling to Germany and knit a blanket. I rode my bike across Germany and knit 6 pairs of socks. I resented a roommate’s boyfriend and made a shawl. I worried about exams and made another shawl. I resented another roommate and made another shawl. While I worried about graduate school applications, my place in the academy, and the academy’s place in the world, I churned through endless pairs of socks, gloves, and a dress.
And so on.
It isn’t that every work I’ve wrought is a full-blown exorcism, laced with my poisonous feeling du jour (“Here, friend, have a hate-sweater.” I promise, neither my blood nor my choler is on your gifted knitwear.). My full-to-bursting pine chest of sweaters, hats, and socks isn’t a Pandora’s box of embodied anxiety. But I’ve found that, for me, knitting acts as a form of stress amplification instead of stress relief. Instead of distracting me from my worries, it gives me the mindspace to endlessly brood over them, all while providing visual proof–in the form of a physical, useful, item, no less–that I’m getting something done.
Plus, I’ve spent six years voraciously learning everything I could about knitting. At the end of all the unlocked achievements (cast ons, bind offs, finishing, stranded and intarsia colorwork, double knitting, aran cables, Bavarian twisted stitches, Estonian lace, all the Barbara Walker, two-socks-simultaneously like in War and Peace, knitwear design, spinning, dyeing, shepherding) was, as you’d guess, a satisfying fluency in the craft. But something had changed. I could read all I wanted–it was all beautiful, but nothing was new. I understood it all. Knitting, to me, wasn’t art or self-expression any more. It was a compulsive habit that had become something that felt a lot like that self-imposed slavery, addiction.
I’ve got an incredible ability to focus and a dogged, enduring sort of energy. Like everyone else, I’ve also got a nearly infinite capacity for anxiety. Knitting, for just about as long as I’ve been doing it, has been a perfect, enormous energy sink–procrastination masquerading as productivity. I think I’ve known it all along, in the back of my mind. All that I mulled and fretted over as I stitched, I could have been working to fix and change. Instead, I’ve sat in passivity, and wound up with more handmade accoutrements than I could ever need. And this handmade life I’ve been living? I haven’t found that it imbued with one more ounce of meaning and grace than any other (No, really, no, not at all. SO, whence meaning and grace? A: Other people.).
You know how at the end of Matilda, Matilda isn’t able to move things with her mind anymore? Instead of discharging her excess mental energy via eyeball-zapping telekinesis, she’s finally got harder schoolwork, which uses it up. And that’s a good thing. I think I’ve been using up a majority of my focus, energy, and creativity in my knitting (Zap Zap, four sweaters for Christmas presents). I mean, have you seen my output? It is incredible, not because I’m incredible, but because I’m relentless.
But, tomorrow, I’m starting on a path that will take my every ounce of work and devotion. So, until I’m ready to come back, I quit.
I get it, I really do. I wish you luck with school, and you could, if you would, blog about that, for I shall miss your wonderful use of the English language! I hope someday you will find the joy of designing and knitting again, and that it will come to mean something other than a really elegant way to fret. peace.
Thank you, Mary. I’ve taken your advice to heart–I’m going to try and keeping writing and thinking about school. I’m sure my thoughts and opinions will evolve as I go through, and I’m glad to have this blog as a place to write it all down (and as a place to get feedback from others, too!)
I wholeheartedly agree with you. The year that I stopped knitting, on the train and at home, was the year that I read 30+ books. I started working on my *actual* work more. The part “Knitting, for just about as long as I’ve been doing it, has been a perfect, enormous energy sink–procrastination masquerading as productivity.” really hit close to home because I remember knitting scarves for friends during finals time in college. It was nice to say “look, but I did DO something!” while being unproductive in reality. I commend you on writing this and wish you luck with your new knitless year :)
Best wishes on the new pursuits. And I hope you find a place in your life to get back to knitting at some point…as a creative outlet and a way to connect with others/build relationships (and not the time-suck of Ravelry forums and pattern queuing and the money-suck of stash accumulation!) And I do hope you find time to visit back here…like Mary said, you use the English language in the best way and I’m mostly going to miss seeing a new post from you pop up in my reader!
Ta ta for now! xoxo.
The previous submissions of my “virtual colleagues” have expressed my thoughts … almost perfectly. I started to knit when I was eight years old. Over the years (I am now 62) I could turn to my knitting for comfort. Quiet times, when I had many conversations with myself, often provided clarity. My knitting pursuits led me to a deeper understanding of others, who lovingly raise fiber-producing animals and have chosen lifestyles so different from my own. Yet, there was an unspoken bond between us. I am not as driven as you with my knitting and have many unfinished items that I hope to complete over time. However, each one reminds me of the connection I made with the producer of the yarn. I remain committed to the many women who work hard to support themselves and their families, while providing me with the opportunity to be a link in the chain. You are an amazing and talented young woman. I have enjoyed following you since your JMF days. I am certain that you will pursue and accomplish your goals and hope that you will continue to share your world with your followers. All the best, always.
Balance, dear Caroline, balance. You will not have learned as much as you can from your discovery unless you learn to hold and exercise your talents in balance. Turning your back on what you do well ( knitting, writing, interpreting, etc.) just moves you into another cell. Please reconsider your drastic approach and trust yourself to taste, rather than devour, things that have become a part of your being. There is nothing wrong with who you are …. truly being alive just means we are constantly revising and improving. My best as you continue to move forward.
Life is full of adventure… Best wishes for a new fulfillment!
“Show me a day when the world wasn’t new”
Sister Barbara Hance (1928-1993)
“And this handmade life I’ve been living? I haven’t found that it imbued with one more ounce of meaning and grace than any other”
So glad you’re finding your own way! You’re trying things and finding they’re not for you, so you’re changing. That’s the way to do it.
Thank you, Sheeri! It’s so frustrating to think you’ve got it figured out, only to discover that things aren’t quite right. But, like you say, that’s the way to do it. It’s good to know I’ve got people like you rooting for me!
I agree with Therese @ 11:34. You are such a talented designer. I hope as you mature and follow your life path that you will some day return to the crafts you excel at and will once again share more beautiful patterns with us. Best of luck to you & also to Zac.
Lynne, thank you so much. Knitting will always have a special place in my heart–I don’t think I could ever fully abandon it. Sooner or later, I’ll pick it back up again.
I absolutely get you – I think women especially ‘should’ themselves too much: I ‘should’ be doing this , I ‘should’ be acting this way, etc. Enough with the ‘shoulding’, doing what feels right is more important.
Yes! And such a relief to break through the fog of ‘should’s and do what one actually wants to do.
If it helps, I was at my sister’s last week, I was knitting a rather large swatch and she said something about knitting, how she used to, self taught, etc. I said that I, too, am self taught and couldn’t figure out the ‘american’ way of holding the yarn, I could only figure out and knit continental. Long story short, she took my yarn and was trying to remember how she knit, A or C, and first, she did a few stitches, we laughed as she was purling. Then she did a few more, knit this time. Her stitches looked just like mine. Why am I telling you this? Because she hadn’t picked up knitting needles in almost 50 years… Just saying… Good luck with your studies! Please also keep us posted on Zac and his amazing cooking skills. I miss both of you from JMF. And hope the quilt is coming along or is done!!