You know that awkward thing some bloggers do, when they haven't posted for a while? They are very apologetic (not this kind) and make up some excuse for their absence, usually related to a holiday, or general busyness and some other kind of distraction. I'm not going to do that.
Up until recently I was under the impression I had to do what I love for a living. That if I didn't do that one thing that I'm most passionate about (read: knitting), and make lots of money doing it, I'd ultimately be unsatisfied, and I could never call myself a success. I'd be living a lie.
And since I was not knitting for a living, there were times (usually preceding this lady's arrival) when I felt rather unsatisfied, like a failure, a liar for being in insurance instead of the fibre-arts. Or a sell-out. Or a coward.
Then I got a wake-up call - or perhaps a satisfying confirmation of what I already knew - from one Ms. Penelope Trunk. It's appropriate that one of her start-up ventures was called Brazen Careerist. Ms. Trunk is nothing if not brashly honest, unassumingly witty, and painfully poignant. Her writing is uncomfortable, challenging, like nothing you'll ever read. And I think I love her for it.
Where or when did I originally get fed that line, that I need to do what I love for a living? Was it one specific place? Did it spontaneously generate in my mind, like flies on a cheesecloth? Or does it permeate from every corner of popular media? We've all read that story. Jane or John Doe finds her/himself in dire straits (after all, you can get neither money for nothing nor chicks for free), begins by doing something they love, and they persevere, and toil, and by the sweat of their brow, they've made millions and are living it up in Zihuatanejo. Oh, wait; no one loves digging tunnels in prison walls, not even Edmond Dantes (insert accent grave). But he was rich, too. Maybe they were onto something.
I can tell you one thing. From the time I started college, I was bombarded with this word: Vocation. Ok, two words: Vocation and Calling. New vocab for me, but apparently not for Christian Academia. From Day One in college - actually, in the case of the College Honors Program, prior to day one, during stimulating summer reading - I was told, directly and indirectly, that I have a sole purpose. I have gifts and talents which brand me for one profession, and the purpose of college is to prepare myself for the rest of my life. But no pressure or anything (to overuse a phrase).
So naturally, I changed my major 4 times from French to Accounting to International Business to Business Administration before graduating. In four years, I might add.
But you know what I'm saying. It's out there. Taunting us. "Other people are doing what they love and are madly successful, so why aren't you?"
But, like Ms. Trunk, I love many things. Cheese, and pie, and math, to name a few. I also love learning new things and stretching myself and meeting new people and finding out what I'm capable of, finding I can do things that I never thought I could (public speaking, for one). What else do I love about my job? Data analysis, and problem-solving, and learning how to become a leader. Mentoring, being mentored, and gaining business acumen. Building relationships I'll have for a long time. Having a LinkedIn profile. These are things I might be able to do as a professional knitter, perhaps. But not like I can in the Insurance industry.
But, all that being said, I'm still trying a new knitting venture. More on that next time.
Mrs. Pi
Christians have conversion stories about how they converted to Christianity. I've also got one of those, but this blog is a different genre, so I'll stick with How I Converted To Knitting. It's true, I was converted. By Vickie Howell. I guess it started before her, but she was the main catalyst.
Knitting for me has been a learning experience, a development ... or to be more dramatic, a metamorphosis. Hell, it could pass as a pure metaphor for my life. I've made lots of mistakes, I've started back at square one, I've unraveled, I've gotten tangled up in knots, I've struck inspiration, I've hit dry spells, I've left things undone, I've improvised, I've broken rules, I've enjoyed successes and failures ... ok so I've never been much of a poet, but you get the idea. One of these days, I'm going to tell my boss I need to frog back to the beginning and start over on one of my projects at work (in insurance, mind you), and she's going to look at me like I have baobabs growing out of my face.
I can't pinpoint what it was that first made me want to try knitting. I do know I was in high school. Maybe it was when my mom got involved in the prayer shawl ministry at church, and watching her, it just looked like something I could enjoy. Maybe it was when I found out about my Grandma's book, Twice-Knit Knitting, the one that pretty much got my parents together (but that's a story for another day). Things in my life just sort of seem to pop up as recurring themes before they feature as a main topic.
Or maybe I just found myself in the yarn aisle at the craft store. Yes, in fact, I think that was it. Glamorous? No. But there it is. I was at one of those big box craft stores - you know, the ones that carry aisles and aisles of "yarn" (well now, someone's turned into a bit of a yarn snob). I was with my mom, and I asked her if she'd teach me how to knit. We bought a skein of plain, acrylic/wool worsted and a pair of needles, and the rest is history (too cliche ... argh, where do they hide the accent aigu?) thus a knitting phenom discovered her calling!
Um, hardly. The needles felt awkward in my hands (despite having mastered other tactical challenges like folding origami cranes and using chopsticks - shout out to four years of Japanese exchange students: Sakura, Yoko, Maho, and Takako). I couldn't grasp the concept of making a slipknot. I started off with the only cast-on method my mom remembered - the simple one, where you essentially have a string of cursive "e's" on your needle. I had at it for a while, reading along with I Taught Myself Knitting. And I'm fairly certain I abandoned that first effort soon afterward.
But I picked it back up, I did. Ok, so a few years went by, and I was in college, and I needed something to do between scenes of a college play. The second attempt only went slightly better than the first. And I confess: I dabbled in crochet. It became sort of an obsession. I spent a few months crocheting to my heart's content. And then I knit a scarf, I think. And that was it for a while. Techniques and terms and fibers and needles lay dormant, marinating.
Until 2006. I was living in my first house, just purchased, and I stumbled upon the show "Knitty Gritty" with Vickie Howell, on HGTV. I was hooked. I DVR'd each and every episode. I learned names like Lily Chin and techniques like "long-tail cast-on". Something about seeing knitting up-close, performed live by real knitters ... I'd be lying if the pleasure I got didn't make me feel like something of a voyeur. There was a flurry of fiber activity, and a true knitter was born. After a seven-year progression from larva to pupa to chrysalis ... I was a beautiful butterfly. Why yes, I do sicken myself sometimes with inclination to cliche (insert accent aigu).
From then, I knitted not just scarves, but hats, and mittens, arm warmers and socks. I started a vest and sweater (I'm better at starting than finishing). So I'm not an expert knitter, but I'm not a novice, either. I'm proficient. All thanks to Vickie Howell.
Which is why, right now, even though I have cast on and ripped out the same mitten four times, I refuse to bad-mouth the Vickie Howell for Caron's Sheep(ish) yarn, difficult though it may be, and though it splits and breaks and somehow refuses to follow its own gauge, I will not stoop to calling it cheap, or resort to name-calling, even though it's completely good for absolutely nothing. Because I owe her. She converted me to knitting.
Mrs. Pi
