Reading the new Knitty, I was struck by Tara Jon Manning's Mindful Knitting column. Although I keep pushing myself to knit, I suppose really, the sad fact is that at the moment I don't want to. It doesn't seem important to me, somehow, building rows of loops upon themselves to construct a garment. Or a square. Or anything else- and I have, truth be told, been feeling kind of bad about this, because knitting is my thing. It's what I do, isn't it?
Ultimately, of course, it isn't what I do. I'm a person first and foremost, and I exist mostly in relation to my kids (even though they drive me insane) and then to other people. I'm a die-hard natural birth geek, a passionate advocate not only for young families and homebirth and breastfeeding, the stuff of their being and their first days together but also those at the other end of the spectrum, who are moving into old age and having a hard time. I am still more, much more, than the sum of any one craft or hobby. (disclaimer. I do not have a problem with anyone who has a c-section, through choice, emergency or any other reason. I'm just blessed to have avoided them. Ditto artificial baby milk)
Some of this, I suppose, is that I'm having a hard time trusting that the wheel is going to turn again and my time with needles is going to come back. If it doesn't, would that be so bad? Probably not, if truth be told, but I'll find something else interesting and exotic to do. For now, my favourite pastime is probably going to remain sleeping.
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Isn't it odd how used to our carefully crafted identities we get? How we accumulate little badges to wear on our self-sashes, "knitter," "mother," "leftist," "vegetarian," etc. I've often wondered what the shiny little core looks like, beneath all that we learn and know and think and talk about...
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