The Clicking Needles of Patience
When I was younger, a teen and early twenty-something, I was extremely impatient. I got mad for the little teeny things that don't matter to anybody: the light turned red, there wasn't any more milk, the soda machine was out of Coke, the light bulb burned out, and so on. It's true that these are frustrating things, but they don't really matter. Patience was definitely not my virtue.
When I was beginning my recovery after a massive nervous breakdown in 2005, I decided I wanted to learn how to knit. I got a little kit with an instruction book, knitting needles, and a few little items necessary for a good knitter. I got some yarn, and went to town. I found I really enjoyed it, but it took too long. I'd work for a half hour and then move on to something else. It wasn't exciting enough. It took me two years to complete a scarf, and a year to make a small baby blanket. Though I was working on them at the same time, I didn't work on them hardly at all, because it took too long. I got discouraged because I wan't patient enough.
In late 2007, I realized how impatient I was, and that I didn't want to be that way. I decided I was going to learn to be patient, and it was quite the undertaking. First, I had to learn to recognize when I was being impatient. Then, I decided what I wanted my reactions to be to different situations, and practiced them. I would have an angry, impatient reaction to something, and when I realized it I would ask myself why it was worth being angry about, and practice my desired reaction. It took a couple of years, but I became a patient person.
Oddly enough, it was the knitting that did the most good. I took on a large project in early 2008, an afghan that is four feet wide and seven feet long. I knit it with worsted weight yarn on size 11 needles, and it took forever. I found I liked working on it for the sake of knitting itself, and not necessarily to finish the project. I would get into an almost meditative state while I knit stitch after stitch after stitch. The action itself was relaxing, and the blanket grew faster than I would have thought. It still took me four months to finish, but the work went by steadily day by day, and week by week.
I remember thinking many times, "Wow, this is taking a really long time," and then looking at my blanket and continuing with the thought, "But this sure is beautiful, and it's getting so big!" I remember as it got closer and closer to being done getting more and more excited about how pretty it was, and measuring it over and over, hoping it was done.
The day I finished it, I did the bind off, admired my new blanket, and did a happy dance in my living room. I then proceeded to call three or four people and tell them about my recently finished blanket. Later in the day, I meticulously cut and attached the fringe. And admired my new blanket while it was on my lap every day for the next several days.
Then the thought came: "What do I knit now?"
The simple yet large project of the blanket taught me much about patience. For most of the blanket my thoughts were mostly about how much I was enjoying knitting, and not how far I had left to go. I just knitted. I enjoyed the project, not just because I was creating something, but because I enjoyed the method of the creation. I loved it so much that I have had at least one knitting project going at all times since I finished that blanket. I have since learned to crochet, so I usually have at least two projects at all times. I enjoy the process more that the finished project.
I found that this translated well into other parts of my life. There are far more important things than the stupid things I used to get so mad about. Singing along with the radio while driving, and instead of getting mad at the light turning red, I had a minute to really jam out to the song. Going for a walk, and seeing a butterfly fluttering by because I was enjoying my walk instead of having my head down, plowing down the sidewalk.
When I used to smoke, I only smoked outside for most of that time. One night during the summer, I was sitting on the back porch when I looked up at the sky and saw something odd. It looked like birds flying around, but it was around midnight. I kept hearing a clicking noise, and then it occurred to me: it was bats. I'd never seen bats flying around before, and it was a wonderful show. I stayed on the back porch long after my cigarette was done, just watching them. One flew under the porch roof, just a few feet above my head. I felt the breeze when it went by. It was one of the most amazing things that have happened to me, and I'm so glad I stayed out so long to watch. Before my blanket, I would have gone back inside as soon as I was done.
I found that life was better when I enjoyed the ride rather than asking, "Are we there yet?"
When I was beginning my recovery after a massive nervous breakdown in 2005, I decided I wanted to learn how to knit. I got a little kit with an instruction book, knitting needles, and a few little items necessary for a good knitter. I got some yarn, and went to town. I found I really enjoyed it, but it took too long. I'd work for a half hour and then move on to something else. It wasn't exciting enough. It took me two years to complete a scarf, and a year to make a small baby blanket. Though I was working on them at the same time, I didn't work on them hardly at all, because it took too long. I got discouraged because I wan't patient enough.
In late 2007, I realized how impatient I was, and that I didn't want to be that way. I decided I was going to learn to be patient, and it was quite the undertaking. First, I had to learn to recognize when I was being impatient. Then, I decided what I wanted my reactions to be to different situations, and practiced them. I would have an angry, impatient reaction to something, and when I realized it I would ask myself why it was worth being angry about, and practice my desired reaction. It took a couple of years, but I became a patient person.
Oddly enough, it was the knitting that did the most good. I took on a large project in early 2008, an afghan that is four feet wide and seven feet long. I knit it with worsted weight yarn on size 11 needles, and it took forever. I found I liked working on it for the sake of knitting itself, and not necessarily to finish the project. I would get into an almost meditative state while I knit stitch after stitch after stitch. The action itself was relaxing, and the blanket grew faster than I would have thought. It still took me four months to finish, but the work went by steadily day by day, and week by week.
I remember thinking many times, "Wow, this is taking a really long time," and then looking at my blanket and continuing with the thought, "But this sure is beautiful, and it's getting so big!" I remember as it got closer and closer to being done getting more and more excited about how pretty it was, and measuring it over and over, hoping it was done.
The day I finished it, I did the bind off, admired my new blanket, and did a happy dance in my living room. I then proceeded to call three or four people and tell them about my recently finished blanket. Later in the day, I meticulously cut and attached the fringe. And admired my new blanket while it was on my lap every day for the next several days.
Then the thought came: "What do I knit now?"
The simple yet large project of the blanket taught me much about patience. For most of the blanket my thoughts were mostly about how much I was enjoying knitting, and not how far I had left to go. I just knitted. I enjoyed the project, not just because I was creating something, but because I enjoyed the method of the creation. I loved it so much that I have had at least one knitting project going at all times since I finished that blanket. I have since learned to crochet, so I usually have at least two projects at all times. I enjoy the process more that the finished project.
I found that this translated well into other parts of my life. There are far more important things than the stupid things I used to get so mad about. Singing along with the radio while driving, and instead of getting mad at the light turning red, I had a minute to really jam out to the song. Going for a walk, and seeing a butterfly fluttering by because I was enjoying my walk instead of having my head down, plowing down the sidewalk.
When I used to smoke, I only smoked outside for most of that time. One night during the summer, I was sitting on the back porch when I looked up at the sky and saw something odd. It looked like birds flying around, but it was around midnight. I kept hearing a clicking noise, and then it occurred to me: it was bats. I'd never seen bats flying around before, and it was a wonderful show. I stayed on the back porch long after my cigarette was done, just watching them. One flew under the porch roof, just a few feet above my head. I felt the breeze when it went by. It was one of the most amazing things that have happened to me, and I'm so glad I stayed out so long to watch. Before my blanket, I would have gone back inside as soon as I was done.
I found that life was better when I enjoyed the ride rather than asking, "Are we there yet?"
Photo credits respectively:
"My first blanket" by Katherine Elizabeth
"Woman Outstretched Hands" by tiverylucky
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