Little stitches, big lessons

...*(K1, p1) 2 times, k3, p1, k1, p1, k2, repeat from * to end of round.

On a free evening like tonight I usually pick up a knitting project. I like knitting for many reasons, for one it's nice to create something tangible, sometimes even useful. It is also nice to do something with your hands, and to think about the person you are making it for. It is relaxing to the brain and makes me sleepy after a long day behind my computer. But it's not these things that inspired today's blogpost.

Knitting is also incredibly difficult. It is applied mathematics, reads like a weird type of HTML and if you make a mistake... it just shows.

Life lessons I learned from knitting

Admit your mistakes

illustration from econesting.com

If you make a mistake, surely you can continue as if nothing happened. Most likely the mistake will show itself even worse a while later, or create more mistakes. You will start feeling guilty, didn't you mean to make this one perfect when you started it? Isn't it for your special friend after all? Many rows later I always end up taking it out to start afresh.

Finish what you start

Knitting is fun when you start... Looking at the nice picture on the pattern, thinking of how perfect you will make this one. And then it wears off. You take the piece apart 2, 3, 4 times. Finish one side of the sweater but the idea of doing the other is boring. In the end you have 4 pieces laying around that need stitching together. And pressing. But it seems as much work to do that as it was to do all the knitting so far. It's not! A few minutes of love unto that old project can make it into the perfect piece you had in mind all the time.

Remain in control

Take breaks. Stop when you are tired. Actually this is my grandmothers life lesson that I'm still learning. There's always tomorrow. You knit because it's fun! Don't let yourself be carried away by curiosity how this will look, and what if you just only that colour etc. You end up making mistakes. And taking it apart again.

Listen to your teacher

If you don't understand what you're doing, just do what your pattern says. Don't be smart about it. This is very counterintuitive, I know. But every time I try a new technique I have no clue what I'm doing until when it's finished. And the only way to make it work is to really count the stitches and follow instructions. Count! 1, 2, 3, purl!

Simple is beautiful

Not everything needs a funny texture ánd a funny color pattern ánd a funny shape at the same time. Keep it simple. Show off your nice even knitting technique. The beautiful wool that you use. Which brings me to the last point.

Invest in quality

Use beautiful wool. Use nice needles. Why spend 50 hours knitting something that could have looked and felt 10 times better if you spend a few euros extra? Seeing and using the end result of your work can be so rewarding, but it's you who has to make it worthwhile. 

zeNS

When you say trains I think Siberia Express, endless tracks in snowtopped mountains, philosophical discussions with long pauses, excited anticipation of what will reveal itself around the next corner. I feel the rhythmic movement of the carriages that empties my head of thoughts.

When I use trains lately I experience crowds of hurried people, long lines in front of the ticket machine, loud phone conversations about things as interesting as the state of someones plants, the smell of fries mixed with sweat and sticky seats. I read that commuters experience more stress than the average soldier in Afghanistan. I believe it.

One day, I find myself sitting across the prettiest lady I've ever seen. I shoot glances at her in the reflection of the window and realize that she does the same. We smile, look away, steal another glance, and smile again. She then says that she likes my hair. I want to tell her that she is the prettiest lady I ever saw. That I like her hair and her eyes and her dress. Instead I say: "Ah, I thought so..." And look away.


On Queensday, my favorite day of the year, I sit in the train with a foreign friend. Everybody around us is drunk, or about to be. It's 12am, and other laws apply today. A group of guys sings: "Mohammed B, Mohammed B, Mohammed B... Theo van Gogh, Theo van Gogh, Theo van Gogh..." Accompanied by hitting the ceiling, chairs, and floor. Few minutes later the train comes to a halt, one of them has pulled the emergency brake. The conductor comes, smiles, puts it back up, and we are on our way again.

Then spring comes, spreads its beams of sunlight over the station. White legs appear under short skirts, couples carry beach bags wearing flip flops, and delays become a perfect excuse to find the end of the platform and catch some fresh air. It's on one of these square meter of no-mans land that I have that sense of timelessness, of travelling to unknown places, of pure harmony. All of a sudden I want to take the train til the end of the world.