From an early age, I wanted to knit. My grandmothers often knit hats, sweaters, or scarves for family members and I remember admiring their work. I understood that knitting was an interesting and worthwhile activity and wanted in on the fun. Unfortunately, my hands didn't quite get the memo on fine motor skills and appropriate tension. 

My mother and I tried in vain to learn to knit, wanting to conquer it like many other crafts we easily picked up- clay, beads, candles- you name it, we did it. But without fail, our cast on stitches would strangle the needle and within a few rows I couldn't squeeze my acrylic needle through the deathgrip of acrylic craft store yarn. Processed plastic on processed plastic is not an encouraging sound.

Foiled, I gave up on knitting, and its equally disastrous cohort crocheting. I busied myself with books and other crafts for many years, but none really held my interest for more than a few projects. Then, like a doctor in a telephone box, came yarn.

In the Fall of 2008, I found myself on the couch watching television for hours on end. I was newly graduated, temping sporadically, in a dying relationship, and under stimulated in every sense of the word. I needed something to keep my busy-something new, something that was just mine. 

I believe that I stumbled upon an interesting crocheted headband pattern on a blog. Although the first pattern that caught my eye isn't clear, the rest of it is. The next day I went to the craft store, bought a metal crochet hook and some Caron Shiny yarn and turned back to the Internet. 

Luckily, in the time since my last foray into fiber, needlecrafts had been picked up by the internet on a large scale. I quickly found page after page of free patterns. I found videos describing what my mother and I had been doing wrong so long ago (holding the yarn too tightly and using non-stretching yarn, mostly) and promptly learned the correct way to crochet. 

I was still too afraid to pick up the knitting needles- one stabby implement at a time, please- but I was happy with crocheting. I came to love the sound of the yarn swooshing over the hook and the craft's nearly instant gratification worked for my impatient desire to be useful. I felt useless in so many other areas of my life that my blobby and mistake-riddled lime green scarf was instantly the best thing I'd ever seen. I even found a way to explain it's varied width- the skinny part was wrapped around the next first, with the wide part acting as a top layer to protect the face, of course. Fortunately, my logic didn't make it past the front door.

Once I was comfortable with the movement of the hook, I embarked on the Project that Would Save My Relationship, a beautiful pattern called the Love Scarf. Spoiler: it didn't work, but I'm still proud of that scarf and happy that it's being worn to this day.

By Thanksgiving, I worked up the courage to pick up the knitting needles. It's been a fun, expensive trip since then. With the help of the Internet and wonderful sites such as Ravelry, Knitting Help, and Youtube, I've learned tons of knitting techniques, found the perfect patterns for myself and for gifts, and bought more yarn than I some farms produce in a year.

Knitting brought me a sense of curiosity, confidence, and self-worth and continues to reinforce those feelings when I feel down but pick up the needles. I can't bring myself to calm down enough to meditate, but when I knit my mind is happily focused enough that stressful thoughts fall to the background and it's just the yarn running over my fingers and the needles clicking away.

My life has changed quite a bit in the 2 or so years since I taught myself to knit. I've held a job, left it to try something new, moved, become more comfortable with myself, made new friends, had new relationships, and become a person I actually like. But knitting has always been there.

Now, I look forward to showing my grandmothers new projects I'm working on. My paternal grandmother can't knit anymore due to hand troubles and is slowly giving my her needles. It's heartbreaking to see her have to give up something she loved, especially when I'm just picking it up, but I hope that my newfound passion for the craft is making the adjustment easier for her. My mother's mom still knits, mostly teddy bear sweaters and blankets (I'm sitting under one right now) and I'm looking forward to "speaking" knitting next time I see her. I've even started to teach my mom knitting and she's getting it! 

I intend to spread the art to anyone who will sit still and pick up the needles. I also want to know how others came to fiber crafts. Many were taught at a young age, but others, such as myself, found their way to yarn later in life, often in difficult times when they needed a bit of productive thumb-twiddling to keep them sane. Whatever their reason, I'd like to know, and to share those stories.