My daughter asked for a knitting loom for Hanukkah. She wanted to make herself a hat for the winter. The other night, we took it out of the box.
“I want it to look like this, Mommy.” She pointed to a picture she’d found.
I did the first weave. I showed her how to loop the yarn around each peg, counterclockwise, one and a time. I lost my grip halfway through; the work I did, unraveling like a cascade of Dominos.
“Mommy! Now you have to start all over!”
Yes. I did. However, this time, I knew what I needed to do differently–hold it a little tighter. My fingers moved more nimbly than before. I made it all the way around, tied the string on the side eye and used the hook to lift each strand up and over the post, weaving the first layer into place.
“My turn! I see what I need to do now! How long do you think it’ll take me to make it? Like an hour?”
“Honey, I think it’ll take a little longer than that. It’s a process. Enjoy it. You’re creating something on your own. Be proud!”
I sat in the chair across from her, watching her wrap, hook and weave. Her furrowed brow, the tip of her tongue sticking out of pursed lips–the look of a determined 10 year old.
She lost hold a couple of times: “Uhhggghhh! I have to start over!”
“No you don’t, you’re already in it. Just keep going.”
I was knitting my own creation. Typing. Erasing. Copying. Pasting. Staring at the beginnings of something, the ending yet to take shape.
We worked side by side for an hour. Slowly, weaving our way toward our goals.
“Mom, I think I’m done for today. My hands hurt a little.”
“Mine, too, baby. Awesome work, Emmy! You can see the outline of the brim!”
She put it away for the night and went to sleep. I stayed up, tenacity trumping tiredness. As I worked on the article, I thought about the loom of life:
There are no shortcuts. I have to wrap each day around its peg. Some days, I do feel like I’ve unraveled, so I start again. Even the days I feel like I’m all the way back at the first peg–I’m not. I’m progressing. I’m already in it. There are many days of frustration. My brain and heart hurt. I want to give up because I can’t see the end.
Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of my Master’s program. One year woven toward my dream of becoming a therapist. I know how I’d like it to look when I’m done, yet I’m not quite sure how it will turn out. All I know is, if I keep wrapping each day around its fate, I’ll get there.
The days of my life are interconnected:
Each article. Each poem. Each song. Each class I teach. Each lap I swim. Each chapter I study. Each conversation I have with my daughters. Each dinner we eat together. Each goodnight kiss. Each mistake I make. Each broken heart. Each triumph. Each good day. Each bad day. I am weaving together a masterpiece–a life of my own making, of my own design.
It’s already taken shape, it already knows what it will be. My job is to not give up, trust the process and keep going…
Write on! ~Rebecca