Monday, September 11, 2017

Scraps of Yarn and Hearts

Sometimes...I think about the knitting I've done.  Sweaters, shawls, hats, gloves - I've made everything but blankets.

And sometimes, I think about the pieces I've given away.

Knitting is such a personal thing.  I spend hours on a project, days, weeks, sometimes a year or more.  My heart always goes into each piece too, a reflection of what I am going through.  Socks for finals and fear of failure, a sweater when I couldn't sleep and filled the void of seemingly endless nights, hats upon hats because I can't stop the mania from making my fingers shake, a scarf because I'm just happy and can't keep it to myself.  Every single piece has a story behind it - something I designed, something I mastered, something I defeated.

I've given so much away.

A white glittering hat to a girl who shared stories with me as we shivered by the train every night after class during a late fall semester.

A grey dropped stitch hat to a girl who was convinced my soul needed saving.

A pink and green shawl and a beanie to a friend who once was close but now is drifting as we both grow into who we need to be.

Purple socks, endless red scarves, and hand warmers to my best friend who left the state this year, taking them to a place where they're no longer needed because it doesn't get cold.

A hat to someone I never even met because they were important to a friend of mine, even as it crumbled months later.

Hand warmers to a woman who's secrets made me queasy but who offered my friend a home when she and her son were homeless.

Socks to my husband because he doesn't have boots and he needs his feet warm in the winter, socks he cherishes still.

There are so many more too, to family members and acquaintances.  So many things over the course of the years and years I've been playing with yarn.

All of these people shared something with me at some point, stories and intimacies and pieces of lives. I heard stories of breakups and heartaches, disease and sickness, fears of failure, unworthiness, the future.  I heard the joys of life, getting a new home, having a new start, passing something they were so afraid to do.

 I gave them all a piece of myself too.  Things are not one way, you know, and I opened up as I handed out knits.  I gave them warmth and I gave them comfort and I gave them my own secrets and stories and fears.  Souls are interesting things.  Maybe they are like horocruxes - you chip a little away each time you share with someone else.  But that makes me sad to think about.  It makes me sound as if I regret doing what I've done and giving what I have.

Sometimes it's exhausting, but I don't have any regrets about it.  The knitted items were needed at the time to keep someone warm, someone safe, someone comforted; the bits of myself were needed too, forming connections that helped me along my way.  I've grown so much through these threads we weave - I'm learning that while I want to curl into my shell again and not let anyone in, that's a miserable way to live.  Give away a bit of yourself and see what you can learn from it.

But sometimes I think about the hand knits I've given away, and inevitably the people I gave them to.

I hope they're all flourishing.

And I hope my knits are being well taken care of.

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