As the Paradigm Shifts | Knitting as a metaphor for how I do life (or want to do life)

||| AS THE PARADIGM SHIFTS by ROSIE KUHN |||

Among the many ways I create in the world, one of my go-to’s is knitting. I usually have at least one or two projects on my needles at a time, with a few more gestating in my imagination.

A Support Chicken I Aspire to Knit for My Niece—Different Colors!

Right now, I’m envisioning a support chicken for my niece—the colors of this chicken haven’t yet revealed themselves to me yet.

Also, I’m hunting for the perfect pattern and yarn for a sweater for my daughter—something that’s exactly what she would want to wear and exactly what I want to knit.

And then there’s the sweater I promised my friend Fred. I have the yarn and needles. I have the pattern too. But the truth is: I’m not sure I want to knit it.

To knit something isn’t any different than creating anything else—whether it’s cooking, gardening, building a boat, or writing these posts. The elements have to speak to the creative: the texture, the color, the design itself. And with anything I knit, I have to imagine being in relationship with this project for hundreds and hundreds of hours. It opens me up and allows me to fall in love with every aspect of what wants to be part of this creation.

Who Am I Knitting For?
Much like writing these Substack posts, I have to be clear about who I’m knitting for. And the answer is always the same: I’m doing this for me. If I defer to anyone else—what they think, what they want, or what they might expect—the project loses its aliveness. I feel irritable, restless, discontent. I procrastinate and avoid the project. It may find it’s way to the back of my closet for months on end.

For me to sit with yarn, needles, and pattern for hours on end, every element has to contribute to the richness of the moment. Yes, there’s an end goal—a sweater, a chicken—but what really matters is the moment-to-moment experience: the feel of the yarn sliding through my fingers, the richness of color, the click of the needles.

It’s an experience to look forward to, not to be neglected or denied, resented or disappointed with—though these responses certainly show up from time to time.

Project or Process?

One of my all-time favorite Sweaters I’ve knitted

I’m a process knitter, much like I’m a process writer. I immerse myself—as I am now in writing this—in the present moment of what’s revealing itself. It’s a quality of being I crave to recreate again and again through knitting, writing, painting, even cooking sometimes.

With knitting, even when the finished piece may eventually belong to someone else, the actual making is only for me. If it isn’t nourishing and nurturing to my soul, resentment seeps in. Who wants a sweater that is knitted with resentment? Yuck!

Sometimes, I ask the questions every creative eventually faces when discontented with a work in progress: Do I keep going, quit or just pause? Do I rip this out and start again? Do I put it down until inspiration returns? These aren’t questions about failure—they’re invitations to courage. To not defer to what other people would do, but to what feels true for me, this is a moment of discernment that each creative faces.

I once unraveled a nearly finished sweater because, when I tried it on, it felt constricting instead of luxurious. Hundreds of hours gone in an instant—and it was liberating. That yarn became another sweater; one I love wearing.

Driving Realizations
A lot of realizations come to me while driving through Crow Valley. The other day I realized a few things related not only to knitting but to my life in general:

1. 1. My number one principle: I’m doing this for me. Though I’ve promised something to someone else, this project and the experience of creating it belongs to me.
   2. The quality of the experience has to be soul-filling and sensually pleasing—the colors, the textures, the needles, the environment. No rushing, no stressing, no guilt—just bringing what’s infinitely pleasing into every moment—if possible.
   3. It has to be fun. If it isn’t fun, why spend hundreds of hours doing it?
   4. The finished piece is always a reflection of the presence I brought to the process. If the recipient never wears it, it’s not wasted, because I delighted in every stitch.

To Knit or Not to Knit Fred’s Sweater
Because I was undecided about Fred’s sweater, I went online and explored different yarn options. I then figured that I might as well take another look at the yarn I already had for this special project. I took it out of the closet and into the full sun. It spoke to me. The color carried a weight, a presence, a vibrancy I hadn’t experienced before. And the texture of the wool was really quite wonderful—squishy and soft enough that I’d be happy spending a lot
of time creating a fabric with this wool.

I owe it to myself—and to Fred—to bring into the world something born of love, beauty, delight and truth. I began casting it on that afternoon! Wha-hooo!

Fred’s Sweater in the Making!

We are All Creatives
What I’m realizing is this: the finished piece will always be secondary. The sweater, the post, the painting—all of it is only as
fulfilling as the love and soul-connection I experience while creating it. And that, in the end, is what I most want to offer: not the product, but the presence within it.

Have all the fun you are willing to have!