The curious way knitting holds your hand

Knitting, crocheting, and yarn crafting as a way through nervousness and unfamiliar experiences

Some of the knitting projects and yarn that have been holding my hand as I embark on a really big, new project (that isn’t yarn related). Plus a sweet little test knit sock that has brought me all joy and good vibes.

I am embarking on a new project. This fall, I will be attending graduate school in addition to running Little Skein Yarn and writing this newsletter.

It coincides with my teen going off to college (fingers crossed because the process of a young adult launching into the world feels more complicated than ever).

Going back to school is a significant “reach” for me, at 57 years old. When I attended my program’s orientation earlier this month, I was pretty sure I was 25, if not 30, years older than the next oldest person in the room.

Age gives me many advantages: I know myself so much better now than when I was 27. I have many lived experiences that give me a wealth of lessons and resilience. But age also has its drawbacks. Other people may see me as slower or duller than a younger person. I have a few age-related quirks: nouns that want to disappear from my vocabulary or expressing ideas more slowly than I used to, meandering through a story as I mentally sift out extraneous information.

The pandemic was hard for me. I spent nearly four (maybe five?) years with very limited face-to-face social contact. I am rusty at talking to people in any sort of quick, sparkling, expeditious way—if I ever possessed this skill.

The pandemic also brought a lot of deep stuff to the forefront for me: social anxiety, impacts of childhood ACES, memories of grief and loss. It was a lot to work through, y’all.

So, entering this graduate program feels like a bigger-than-ever milestone. Not just entering a new chapter at an unexpected age, but it also marks a coming out of something for me.

I felt all these big and complicated feelings when I attended my program orientation earlier in May. And so I did what I usually do when feelings are very big for me. I pulled out my knitting.

I quietly cast on a sock—the beautiful acid-green sock pictured above. It’s a test knit for Kavitha Raman, her upcoming Chanala sock pattern, and I’m making it out of my own Targhee Sock yarn in the colorway Raii (named for Jaq Cieslak’s cute lil Miniature Schnauzer).

To my surprise and delight, I was seated between two other knitters. At different times, both whispered to me that they wished they had brought their knitting. We chatted at breaks about how they learned to knit, what they were working on, and what I was knitting. I checked to make sure my knitting wasn’t distracting to them, and at our lunch break, I checked in with the professor with the same question. The answer was the same: We don’t mind at all. (My professor even said, “Knitting as self-care. I love it!”)

Having my familiar needles in my hands, with my hands making familiar movements that I can do without even looking, helped me feel comfortable in an unfamiliar, big feelings situation.

This new graduate school thing is already inviting me to grow. Classes won’t start in earnest until the fall, but I am currently applying and interviewing for an internship that is a key part of the program. (This program throws you into the deep end: you start practical training concurrent with academic classes!) And, friends, I am rusty. I am getting a chance to relearn interview skills that I last used a literal 25 years ago.

Putting yourself out there to say, “I want this,” is hard. There are so many ways the world can respond with, “meh.” From unanswered inquiries to crickets to a resume to actual rejections. Whether it’s me, or you, reaching for something we want … How do we sustain ourselves and keep trying? How do we remain attached to our goal but flexible in the process that will get us there? How do we stay grounded in our sense of self: to know that we are valuable, competent, and resilient? How do we not shrink away and not dim our hopes?

Knitting and yarn crafts are helping me through. I find that I am reaching for my needles a little more often right now.

I have a fiery knitting mojo: for casting on, ripping back mistakes and redoing them, trying new techniques, and pushing color boundaries. It’s no coincidence, I think.

Knitting is a friend. It keeps me company. It doesn’t judge. It shows me I am competent. It tells me that mistakes are okay and can always be fixed. It shows me resilience and accomplishment and care and love, all at the same time.

I am forever grateful for this “little hobby” that is actually a really big thing.

If you’re curious about the yarn I’m using for the colorwork project pictured above, it’s a new base I’m testing and will come to my shop later this year. It’s a swoon-worthy, non-superwash British yarn made by John Arbon Textiles, a family-run worsted spinning mill in Devon, England, hand-dyed by me. I have fallen deeply in love with this yarn and the fabric it makes and can’t wait to finish, photograph, and wear my sample projects—and invite you to cast on, too.