the Village Knittiot

For the last couple of days I’ve had a post rolling around in the back of my head, which is a little odd, because since deciding to take a break I haven’t really felt the usual compulsion to write much of anything. Particularly here on the blog. This self-imposed hiatus has been an excellent refresher for me. Sometimes you just need to be quiet and listen. That has pretty much been the theme of the summer for me. And I have heard a lot of things. I’m not sure that’s over yet, but today I felt the need to write and I am listening to that voice.

As the Summer of Knitting Naturally has worn on, I have found myself experiencing a sense of freedom and relief. At first I couldn’t quite put my finger on where it was coming from. Then I took a step back from the blog and that sensation increased. So I decided to give it some more serious scrutiny.

A not so surprising side effect of the boundaries I set for myself this summer is that is has been much more difficult to buy yarn. Not that there aren’t options, it’s just that they are few and far between and usually only available online. I tend to be reluctant about purchasing yarn I haven’t touched or felt or visually inspected. I say, “Oh, I’ll think about it.” And more often than not, I just never go back and actually hit the “buy it” button.

In the midst of all of this (as usual) I have been in the throes of some serious evaluation of my path and where I want it to ultimately take me. The getting quiet and listening are a big part of that. I have had some revelations and realizations and moments of clarity. These moments, in turn, have caused me to seriously think about my priorities.

Financially, knitting has been my priority for the better part of the past few years. I started crocheting to preserve my sanity in a difficult situation. This led to knitting. And like many things in my life, what was once an activity promoting peace, relaxation and a personal sense of accomplishment, has been turned (by me) into a pressure-filled pursuit of excellence with unrelenting expectations and standards that I can’t possibly meet at the moment. In short, it has become discouraging. And expensive.

I hadn’t really realized how much pressure I felt about the financial aspect of knitting until it was removed from the equation. The pursuit of knitting, like most hobbies (or really anything) here in the US, seems to be primarily about the accumulation of stuff. Notions, needles, yarn, books, etc., etc., etc. And there is very little in this game that is inexpensive. Particularly once you start trying to find materials that were produced organically or sustainably or with some aspect of the earth’s future or the health and well-being of her inhabitants in mind.

While, admittedly, my stash is so small as to be almost non-existant and I like to think of myself as someone who has never been too terribly into the accumulation of things, the truth of the matter is that I struggle against cultural tides just as much as the next person. Living off the grid is still a pipe dream and I am not immune to the marketing messages that bombard me at every turn.

Since knitting became more than just an amusing hobby, keeping up with even a moderate amount of knitting and spinning is a major financial commitment. Every time I find myself with a little bit of cash, I feel I can’t spend it, because I will need it for that next sweater or that book or that [insert knitting purchase here]. Then there are the agonizing decisions such as, if I purchase this book, I won’t be able to afford the yarn for the project, or the needles or something else. Meanwhile the tidal wave of options continues to pour over us and the short-attention-span-syndrome leads to continual project abandonment, or, if you are me, option paralysis. I am afraid to commit to this yarn or that yarn for fear that I will end up not liking it and then I will have no money to get something I really like. Spending money is, generally, an exercise in anxiety for me. So this connection between financial anxiety and knitting has only served to make my fun and enjoyable hobby a big stresser.

In all of this quiet contemplation, I have suddenly come to see very clearly what has been lost to me in my pursuit of knitting. One of my dearest friends in the world told me once that she had made a commitment to less stuff and more doing. In other words, living life was more important than accumulating things. It has taken a little while for the weight of those words to penetrate into the inner sanctum of knitting. Yet, here they are. Somehow the necessity of the stuff has taken precedence over the actual doing.

I know what I want now, and knitting, while it is lovely and will continue to be a part of my life, needs to take a less prominent position in the knittiot’s hierarchy of needs. Or rather, it needs to go back to being that calming, peaceful activity that provided a lovely outlet for stress rather than something that adds to it. Simplicity is the name of the game here.