Last Sunday I decided to start knitting a scarf.
This is at least the third time I’ve tried to learn how to knit. Each time I get a few rows into the project and then realize how odd my work looks. And then I give up.
This time is no exception. My work shows evidence of “rowing out” — I have furrows throughout my scarf marking where the tension in my hands changes.
Continuing work on a project when I know the result won’t look perfect, when I can already see the mistakes, is a type of anguish I try to avoid.
I’ll start over, trying to to get it just right. Or I’ll abandon the project entirely.
Somewhere along the line I missed the fact that learning things take practice, that failure and imperfection is just a part of the process. At some point I decided that if I couldn’t get it right, and right away, then I wouldn’t do it.
Unfortunately, life doesn’t look perfect. And raising kids — ooh, my faults are amplified and personified when a wee person reflects them.
I can’t abandon living life, or raising my kids. I can’t give up on cleaning my house, even though there is always dirt on the floor. I can’t hide from friends even though I don’t always know the right thing to say in a conversation.
Sometimes it’s tempting. I definitely have seasons where I get so tangled up in myself that I am paralyzed by my fear of imperfection, times when life and friends and kids all feel like too much.
Right now, though, I’m going to keep knitting. I’ll look at my mistakes, fix what I can, and see the rest as the markings of a scarf being knit — and a life being lived.
