I knit. I hesitate to say that I’m a knitter, because that makes it sound like I create amazing fiber things in a timely manner. My knitting is slow, contemplative. It’s an active meditation. It’s a way of surrounding myself with a fiber hug and a lap of cats when nothing else will do.
In knitting, sometimes, when you have a project that is just terrible. You hate the pattern, or the yarn isn’t right or any other numbers of things aren’t lining up, you have no choice but to pull the piece apart, so that you can start over. This is called “frogging.”
Two years ago, after much deliberation, I decided that the fabric of my life was not right. The yarn wasn’t working for me, so to speak, and I hated the pattern that I had forced myself into. So I pulled it apart. To the basic elements of me.
I spent the first year wallowing. Making no-so-awesome choices. Thinking. And knitting. I spent the second year trying to identify who I was, and who I wanted to be.
This year, I’m starting to find my way back. I’m ready to get the yarn of myself back on the needles, and I’m ready to choose a new pattern for my life.