Though AudioGirl might disagree on the exact timeline, I would pin my current level of creativity kicking back into high gear some time early-mid last summer. It was then I resumed most actively work with pen and needles.
First and foremost, I am a writer. This is as true a description of me at age six as it is now. Granted, I usually try to write in slightly more complete and grammatical sentences but if you were to abscond with my journal, you’d probably find the same true and raw emotions as expressed by a six year old as you might now. But my writing took a nosedive about three years ago and waned to nearly nonexistent. Some of my best writing comes from high and low emotions and certainly the past three years has been a period of my life when I was experiencing all kinds of drama. But for nearly two years I didn’t write about it. A box of journals will attest to my self-chronicling and seeing myself go months at a time without an entry was pretty freaky.
At that same time last summer, my yarn and needle obsession seriously turned upwards. Certainly it didn’t hurt that it was at this point that I gained access to Ravelry and suddenly had thousands of new friends to promote this craft to me. And certainly I was knitting and acquiring yarn before that, but not with my current passion.
It will surprise few that this re-emergence of my creative self coincided with the termination of a long term relationship. It was a point of concern within the relationship that I did not write–for without that documentation, where was the preservation of the relationship? Without resetting the scene and stage for myself, other memories soon take over and take precedence and those two years are banished further into hazy past.
During that relationship my creative self took back seat and was shuttered into very specific outlets. Sunday nights saw its strongest emergence as I would leave my apartment and head to a friend’s for band practice. I wasn’t in the band but I was always welcome to curl up in the corner, a giant afghan in progress on my lap, to listen and sing along. It was the truest to myself that I would be for nearly two years. For while they did not understand my fascination with pointy sticks and gray acrylic, I was among friends and musicians.
And now, no longer hampered, I find myself fully absorbed again into my creative self. I’m happy to stay up again until 5 a.m., debating as I sit in my not-quite-a-rocking-chair whether I should just wait up until sunrise or if sunrise will even be visible through all the recent rain. I can justify to myself the hours needed to create a work of yarn art and eagerly anticipate the next row, even if it’s just the same stitch over and over.
I appeal to you to take a moment to think about your current creativity. Take a step back this week and ask: what is my craft? Am I knitting, am I writing, am I being myself? For if a band full of young men with absolutely no fiber art interest can understand why I’m now on my 283rd row, so must there be others who understand. In this ever increasingly small world, find those who inspire you, encourage you, and want you to embrace the art that is your own.
And to the AudioGirl, the Brunette, the Blonde, and the members of Cylus Wood, thank you for always appreciating and encouraging my particular insanity.