I am knitting a sock and right now, it seems to be the one connecting factor in my life.
I can knit a stitch at home. I can knit a stitch at the theater. I can kitchener in the car. (I’m rather proud of that last fact, actually)
I’ve been listening to the podcast Cast On, and as usual, it puts me into a slightly superior self-analyzing mode that lasts for about 3 seconds. However, it kickstarted my brain and today, for once, I’ve had enough time to process everything. And knit. Just some simple stockinette with some rainbowy yarn that I rather like. My muscles and brain have relaxed and my breathing rate is mellow. When I think “oh, wait, I need to–” I realize that I don’t really have anything urgent that I need to worry about. At least until tomorrow.
I wear different faces with different people. I think acting in the play has helped me realize just how often I do this. When I talk to the elderly gentleman at my church that still thinks of me as a little girl, I’m cheerful, kind and loud-he’s rather deaf–and that is a character. But what acting doesn’t do is tell me when the line ends, where my characters stop and where I begin. It can make me feel fragmented and sometimes afraid that I don’t even know who I am. But knitting is a constant. It doesn’t offend anyone. It’s simple. It’s basic. It’s like a touchstone and it helps.
And that’s good, because things are only going to get crazier from here on out. Because next week, Anne of Green Gables opens. But also, I landed a role in another play. A Shakespearan play. The Tempest, to be exact. And I will be playing Miranda Even as I typed that, my chest tightened up slightly. When I auditioned, I didn’t expect a major role. It would be my second play and to be frank, my role in AOGG is rather minor.
If I didn’t care, it would be easier. If I didn’t care so much about doing a good job, I could just shrug it off. But I do care, very much so. I think it comes from my writing, actually. As a writer and a long-time reader, it has always been the people that fascinated me. As such, I’m intensely careful when dealing with another person’s characters. I’m scared. Deathly terrified, actually. I want to crawl under a rock and hide there for about two months. But I am so glad. Because I need this. I need to be able to put myself out there and fail. Or flub, or be imperfect.
But with knitting, it doesn’t matter. I have the ultimate control over my knitting and I’m not afraid. It helps form a core that lets me venture past my boundaries. I suppose that’s why I almost immeaditely wound up this Wollmeise yarn. I am knitting Ishbel with it. Or, if it doesn’t work out, I can frog the shawl and knit knee-socks with it; it doesn’t matter. It’s my choice and while I move into new spheres, I’m clutching a pair of needles and a ball of yarn in one hand.