Threads of hope in the midst of everything
Over the past, oh, let’s just say since 2016, when the presidential election here in the U.S. stunned and frightened me, I often find myself in a particular kind of quandary.
What is happening in the larger world can feel grim, from growing impacts of climate change to minority opinions holding the levers of government. And yet, what is happening in my small world is mostly soft, calm, and an expression of my deeply-held values of community, care, and making space for everyone.
And yet. And yet.
An integral part of my values is to see the system and to do my part to bring to life the dream of something better. To bear witness to the ways injustice impacts not only my family or me, but to bear witness to how unjust systems ultimately marginalize and impact all of us. “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free,” said the powerful activist Fannie Lou Hamer.
So, what do I do when I have very little power in the larger system? When all I can really do is vote? This is a question, a quandary, that roils inside of me.
Social media would tell me to “share my voice,” but the reality is that social media thrives on outrage. Journalists and newspapers don’t give me much help, either. They’re focused on uncovering problems or sharing “both sides” reporting, not helping regular folks, like you and me, figure out how to help. Voting in elections, from local to national, often feels like it’s the only real power move available to me.
For me, I also have a small business and, with it, a small platform, miniscule compared to others but more than nothing.
And yet, I’m not sure I’ve ever influenced anyone to change their minds about anything.
Where I find solace in the midst of all this is in the thought of bearing witness.
I believe it is meaningful to really see, and not look away from, the way ordinary people are impacted by what’s happening in the wider world. The unhoused person in Chicago who cannot find respite from wildfire smoke caused by climate change. The young Black and Brown students who won’t be admitted to prestigious universities because their very real lived experience can no longer be considered in the admissions process. (Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson’s dissent in Students vs. UNC is a scorching, amazing read.)
My small vote doesn’t do much to change the reality for so many people who are and will be harmed, but I like to think that my bearing witness does help. When I see the injustice, when I don’t turn away, when I don’t grow numb, it helps carry some of the moral weight of what’s happening. I hold what I can and I care for myself so that I don’t buckle under the weariness. I suppose this is a version of President Obama’s anthem “yes, we can,” but a slightly more world-weary one.
Because I’m a knitter, I also think about where I see this in my knitting, because if I can hold this kind of complexity in my knitting, I can surely hold it in my life, too.
I’ve shared before how I’m exploring summer knitting with finer gauge projects and plant fibers. A few weeks ago, I cast on the Oolong Tank by designer Aimee Sher, which is a sassy little lace tank top. I’m making it at a finer-than-called-for gauge because I’m trying out a new slightly slubby, fine weight, cotton-wool yarn. The pattern is written for 25 sts to 4 inches, but I prefer the fabric this yarn makes when I knit at 30 sts to 4 inches. So, there are a lot of stitches.
I am nearing the end of the knitting and, just last night, I joined the second shoulder and started the edge finishing. But here’s the thing: I’m not sure the size I’ve chosen to knit, combined with the gauge modification I made, is going to result in a garment I want to wear over and over again.
This roils me because I’m deeply invested in the idea of making my own clothes and, equally, in making things that have a long life of beauty and usefulness. It feels antithetical to my creative work to spend six weeks of knitting on something that won’t be a bullseye, through no fault of the pattern.
Now, this small problem of knitting is laughable in comparison to broken systems that cause injustice and harm. But, hidden inside our knitting, I believe we can find threads of hope to bolster our resolve for the bigger things.
I can learn that it’s okay to try something new and have it not result in something useful. Each thing we learn builds upon the other and helps us see opportunities for change or influence, when we might not have noticed them before.
I learn that time spent in pleasurable activity—the pleasure of memorizing a lace chart, of making soothing loop after loop—actually is the point after all. That the finished item is a bonus, but the moment right now is what matters. Our hearts can expand to be able to bear a bit more witness.
My nervous system—which was frazzled and fried from the cruelty and chaos of the Tr*mp presidency and kicked into overdrive during the pandemic—my nervous system can learn, through experience and repetition, that it’s okay to keep going when things are uncertain. That growing edges can expand rather than cut. That we can see the uncertainty and still manage to reach forward.
It’s just knitting, and it’s just a tank top that might not fit. But it’s also a deep breath and a place of solace that helps me know: we can hold the uncertainty of life and equally hope for better days ahead.
This week’s offering:
My yarn subscription club is open for new members for the next two weeks
A cornerstore of my creative work is my yarn subscription club, which gives you a dose of dopamine yarn pleasure, adds to your stash in a small way (it’s just one skein) and in a useful way (I aim to create crowd-pleasing colorways that will be useful for hats, shawl pairings, sweater edgings, and more).
Right now, my club is larger than it’s ever been, and that makes me so so happy. Many of my subscribers have been around for a long, long time, which tells me that you all find this club valuable and delightful. I would love to have you join.
This is my most economical yarn offering because (if you’re in the US), I pay for your shipping. (If you’re outside the US, you get flat-rate $10 shipping, which works out to about the same dollar discount.)
It’s just $34 every other month
It’s inspired by Anne of Green Gables (so if you’re a fan, you’ll really love it) and you don’t have to be familiar with the books or movies to love the colors
I share the story of the colorway and it’s inspiration
It’s my most luxurious fingering weight base: Cashmere Blend
It’s open for new subscribers for the next two weeks only (and the next opportunity won’t roll around until two months from now)
A well-wish for today
I am learning how to say “thank you for waiting,” rather than “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” and today, I hope that you, too, can embrace the idea that you’re okay, just as you are. You are worth waiting for. You don’t need to apologize. You are a whole, wonderful, human, just as as you are, in all the ways you sparkle and all the ways you fall short. You are enough.
Thanks for being here. I am rooting for all of us.
Bearing witness. My father died Friday night. He was in hospice, so he was at home. If there can be such a thing as a good death, he had one. The house was quiet and peaceful. I sat on the couch next to his bed, knitting a sock. It was as if the rhythm of his breathing and my stitching were in sync. I grafted the toe, and he breathed his last.
Bearing witness. I talked last night with my SIL, and we got around to the “gay question.” She is Methodist, and the churches are voting over the “issue”- people’s lives are not issues. I told her I’m fully affirming of the LGBTQ+ community. Full stop. I explained why. She’s conflicted. I don’t need to change her mind. I needed to speak my values.
I cast on the second sock the day after Dad died. The socks are for my husband, who loved my dad as his own father. Threads of comfort for us both.
Talking is important too. We are in very similar places, ideologically, but I still learn things from reading your posts or talking to friends. For example, you shared the story of your friend who is using she/them pronouns for a child until they are old enough to decide for themselves. I wouldn’t have thought about that and now it is nestled in my brain when I think about young children and gender.
I keep looking for ways to do more, but while I am doing that, I’m also listening and sharing and reading. My learning benefits coming from a place of softness and kindness. We may not change the minds of people on the opposite end of the spectrum, but how we talk makes a difference.