Editor’s note: Chelsea Kline, a columnist on the Opinion Page for several years, will move to the Living pages with a monthly column that debuts today and will run on the third Friday of the month.
In my early days of motherhood, when I still thought that perfection was real and attainable, I learned to knit. A perfect mother hand-knit her child’s sweaters, obviously.
Perhaps I was trying to overcompensate, given that I was 19, unmarried and broke. So if made my child beautiful little garments out of super soft wool, then I wasn’t a total disaster, right? Right?!
At first, I felt stiff and unsure, casting on felt like trying to coax an overcooked spaghetti noodle to perform magic tricks. The knitting needles seemed absurdly long in my hands, and the ball of yarn rolled into a corner after winding itself around my ankles. I imagined creamy white sweaters with ribbing, cables, and intarsia designs as I crouched down, trying to lure the wool out from under the depths of the couch.
Little by little, I got the basics. Casting on, purling, then knitting for real. Graduating from little samples to a whole long scarf. I marveled looking at the long, albeit slightly wobbly multicolored scarf I’d made.
“Every stich, made by me!”
I regarded my toddler in a grander yet similar manner. As she wobbled across the floor on feet as soft and sweet as dumplings, “Every part, made by me!”
I was giddy with power. I could make a whole army of children, and knit scarves for all of them. I settled on learning how to make hats, and trying to get my life together. Part of that included learning meditation, as a way of managing the stress of being a single mother, earning a degree and running a small business. Yet, similarly, I never felt that I was meditating quite right, always falling short. My meditation practice was akin to learning knitting, groping around in a dark dusty corner.
Reality forced my visions of perfection to step aside. My baby’s doughy legs and dumpling feet were inexplicably replaced by longer, stronger, ever-growing versions, and she pranced though dance classes and pedaled her first bicycle. I was still doggedly clinging to what kind of knitter, parent, and meditator I should be, which only set me up to keep falling short.
I worked three jobs, and in my little snippets of downtime, I would sit and puzzle over patterns for fair isle sweaters, mittens, socks, and those blasted cables. Sometimes, I’d remember to sit cross-legged and desperately attempt to quiet my mind for a moment or two.
Who I was hoping to be wasn’t aligning with who I actually was, so naturally, that was an opportunity for me to berate myself. The harder I tried, the less I enjoyed knitting or sitting in my small doses of free time. I was too busy to keep attempting patterns, but I discovered circular needles. Since by then I’d mastered the basics, circular needles were a breeze.
I wish I could say that I consciously chose to take the pressure off at least one aspect of my life, but then again, sometimes our best choices are made without involving our brains. I ditched the patterns and just knitted in the round. I created gigantic, multicolored, stretchy tubular cowls that were easy to make, fun to wear, delightful to give as gifts, and best of all, patternless.
When I sat next to my child as she fell asleep, I knitted a mindless circular creation. At the playground, or during bath time, and while she told me her fantastical stories, I occupied my hands and made something beautiful without struggling with a pattern. I was grounded, calmed, and present as my hands went round and round. Almost like praying the rosary, I noted one day as my hands seem to move on their own volition.
I had given up on formal meditation, yet discovered a way to be mindful that worked for me and my overstuffed life. I found my way to mindfulness in the round, which ultimately allowed me to realize that I was enough. When we are present with ourselves, we can often get clearer on what actually matters, and what doesn’t. When we’re present with ourselves, we can be softer, gentler, sweeter both inwardly and outwardly.
I slowly learned that not everything needs to be so hard. Beyond that, I learned that there’s tremendous beauty and power in spending time on things that feel smooth and easy, instead of forced. The less I worried about who I should be, the more I accepted and appreciated myself wholly. Certainly, there’s incredibly skilled and brilliant knitters that create and utilize patterns to craft exquisite one-of-a-kind treasures. I just happen to take a different path. Just as there are many important and highly respected approaches to mindfulness, I’ve taken a roundabout approach (see what I did there?)
Self-kindness can lead us to be to kind to others, since what goes around comes around, and then around again. As we reemerge into the sunshine this spring, please remember to be extra gentle on yourself. Forgive, celebrate, heal, and come around to being present in each moment of your unique beautiful life.
Chelsea Sunday Kline is an author, belly laugher, big hugger, who believes that nearly everything is made better by dogs, walking in the woods, and lots of cookies.