Cimarron Shawl

DO YOU FIND that when you have finished a project, you haven’t just created a wearable item, you have also knit a story into physical form? When I pick up a handknit item, I can viscerally remember what I was experiencing with each stitch: This is the sweater I ripped out countless times on a sleepless red eye flight over the Atlantic. This is the shawl I knit to process the grief of my grandmother’s passing. This is the sweater I made when I spent a sun-drenched week romping through the Arizona desert with a dear friend. These are the socks I finished when I was so very sad that all I could do was pour myself into a chair and mindlessly work round after round of stockinette.

We can’t often choose the circumstances of our lives when we create things, but I do often think about the energy I am infusing into each project. Is it frustration? Sadness? Anger? Grief? Sometimes these are simply what’s present, and knitting serves as the moving meditation to process hard feelings. But I am also intentional in weaving gratitude into each stitch, too: gratitude that, as my fingers form stitch after stitch, I can allow my body to feel what it needs to feel; gratitude for the sheep that grew this wool and the farmers and artisans involved in turning that wool into yarn; gratitude for the simple joy of melding color and texture; gratitude for the sunlight streaming in from the window and the cozy cup of tea by my side; gratitude for the ability to create something beautiful with my own two hands. In this way, every project becomes an entry into my textural gratitude journal—written in stitches, not words.

May the Cimarron Shawl be this for you: an opportunity to feel what you need to feel and a canvas for your gratitude, whatever that looks like for you in this season.