Getting Tangled Up in Knitting

by Anne Salmi

Anne SalmiI was fourteen years old when I first picked up a pair of knitting needles. It was Thanksgiving, and I sat in front of my living room fireplace, running my fingers through our faded brown carpet. I was beside my older sister, watching as she pulled the yarn around the needles, making loops on what would become a large scarf. After a few minutes, she handed them to me, and I tried making my first stitches. They looked wonky and were far too tight, but she didn’t take them out until later. After I started to get a handle on the way her needles felt in my hands, she left, and I watched as she walked down the stairs. She came back a few minutes later with another pair of needles and some cheap acrylic yarn that had probably come from the clearance section at Walmart. I learned how to cast the stitches onto a needle, and I started making my own knitted project.

I remember the way it turned out—it was supposed to be a dishcloth. I didn’t learn until later that you weren’t supposed to make dishcloths with acrylic yarn. The stitches were uneven and somehow it had wound up being shaped like a triangle, despite my every intention to make a square. I practiced, and my second project, a long, skinny, striped scarf, turned out somewhat usable.

It’s been nearly five years since I first started knitting, and I can safely say that I still have a long way to go before I can consider myself an expert. I’ve made scarves, hats, blankets, and most recently, mittens, but I would be lucky to go more than one row without having to go back and try again. Sure, there’s a hint of frustration when I realize that I accidentally made one stitch too many, or one too few, but the feeling of accomplishment that comes from the journey is one that I’ve rarely found in other hobbies. Mistakes are a part of learning, and I think I would’ve driven myself crazy had I held the expectation that everything I made had to be perfect.

The feeling of accomplishment that comes from the journey is one that I've rarely found in other hobbies.

I’ve been knitting for a handful of years, but it’s a craft that I intend to keep up for the rest of my life. Since I was little, I’ve been a fidgety kid, and having something to do with my hands has always made it easier to focus. I used to knit in class in high school. I was a bit obnoxious— sometimes I found myself shoving a two and a half foot long blanket into my backpack and hauling it from class to class. In the classes where my teachers didn’t mind my antics, I found it a lot easier to pay attention. There are plenty of people who laugh when I say that I like to knit, and in some ways they’re right (I really do act like a grandma); but it helps to relieve stress along with keeping me focused. Instead of letting myself fall into the depths of my anxiety, I get lost in the repetitive motion of making each stitch. There are few things that let me out of my mind like the act of knitting.

I’ve also strengthened my friendships through yarn projects. When I was fifteen, I remember going to the movies with one of my friends, and we both brought something to knit and tried to work in the dark. We ultimately failed, but we still love to laugh about it. My roommate and I bonded over our fondness for yarn projects. She crochets, but the two aren’t really all that different. I love it when people ask me what I’m working on. Knitting is an easy way to start a conversation. If you see someone frantically knitting somewhere on campus, it's probably me. Feel free to come say hello—I'm probably stressing about an upcoming exam and would love the company.

Instead of letting myself fall into the depths of my anxiety, I get lost in the repetitive motion of making each stitch.

Knitting is a craft that most associate with elderly women in rocking chairs, but they're not the only ones who love the feeling of knitting needles between their fingers and a ball of yarn on their lap. More than anything, knitting is an escape, an it's one that I couldn't live without.