I began my knitting journey a few months before the pandemic struck—well, more accurately, I began trying to knit. I was clumsily navigating the craft, and honestly, I still am. As the world shut down and uncertainty loomed, I found myself knitting more often. I would knit during Zoom hangouts with friends, while tuning in to our Sunday church service online, and even while absorbing the increasingly grim news of the day.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was creating—was it a scarf or a shawl?—but that didn’t really matter. The end result was secondary; it was the act of knitting itself that held significance for me.
Now, almost a year into this endeavor, I must admit: I’m not very good at it. In fact, I’m quite clumsy with the needles. My knowledge is limited to basic knit and purl stitches, and following patterns is not my strong suit. Last summer, I attempted to make a blanket, but its dimensions turned out so askew that it resembled a scarf for a giant.
Yet, I find joy in my lack of skill. My low expectations for the final product—if there even is one—allow me the freedom to create without the pressure of perfection. Embracing mediocrity has given me the space to knit simply for the joy of it, rather than for the outcome. This is especially liberating for someone like me, who tends to be a perfectionist.
Interestingly, my half-hearted attempts at knitting serve as a counterbalance to our results-driven, success-obsessed culture. Whenever I mention my knitting hobby (and I use “hobby” loosely), fellow knitters are quick to offer encouragement and support. They share tips and remind me to “keep at it.” There’s no judgement when I express my struggles with knitting in the round or when I showcase my lopsided scarf. Instead, there’s only positivity.
Penny Hart, a parent and knitter, pointed out the essential difference between parenting and knitting in a recent article. She noted that when someone shares a photo of a finished project, it reflects love, care, time, and effort—something to be celebrated rather than critiqued. She aptly suggested that anyone who has ever judged another parent should take up knitting, especially as winter approaches and we all could use a few scarves.
I used to struggle to understand the appeal of knitting. I would see people knitting in various settings, wondering how they could focus on two things at once. It wasn’t until I started knitting that I recognized how the rhythm of the needles—one in front, slip under, pull through—could actually enhance concentration. It brings you into the moment, reduces distractions, and encourages a slower pace.
As Penny Hart observed, “Knitting puts me in the moment.” It calms the mind and fosters awareness of my hands and the yarn slipping through my fingers. A year after I began knitting to reduce my screen time, I still can only manage a few basic stitches and can barely decipher a pattern. But that doesn’t bother me. Knitting is doing precisely what I hoped it would—calming my mind, keeping me off my phone, and helping me stay present. If you’re feeling anxious about the upcoming months, I encourage you to try making a scarf. Winter is approaching, and it promises to be a challenging one. Knitting might just help.
For more insights into home insemination, check out this related blog post. If you’re looking for reliable resources on pregnancy and home insemination, ACOG offers excellent guidance.
Search Queries:
- How to start knitting for beginners
- Benefits of knitting for mental health
- Easy knitting patterns for scarves
- Tips for improving knitting skills
- What to know about home insemination
Summary:
I began knitting just before the pandemic, initially fumbling through the craft. Despite my lack of skill, I find joy in the process, embracing mediocrity and the freedom it brings. My experiences highlight the supportive nature of the knitting community and how the act of knitting can foster mindfulness and reduce anxiety. As winter approaches, knitting can be a therapeutic outlet for many.