I’m an insomniac. And, as of 2017, I’m also a knitter.
It was the Pussyhat Project that got me started, and I quickly got so excited about the whole process (I am making fabric! Out of string!) that I accumulated an absurdly large yarn stash. My mother does not knit, but luckily for me, she had held on to all of her mother’s knitting accoutrements – including a set of Boye interchangeable circular needles, dozens of pairs of straight needles, and even a wooden yarn swift stamped, “Made in Sweden.”
Obviously, I was meant to be a knitter at some point in my life.
I sometimes joke that I finally have a Zombie Apocalypse skill. But more than that, I’ve got an addictive hobby that helps immensely with my anxiety, occupies my hands when I’m in the passenger seat or waiting in long lines, and ends up producing something genuinely useful when I’m finished.
And? It turns out knitting has been the catalyst for some of the most powerful community building I’ve ever experienced.
In my non-knitting life, I’m a perpetually underemployed freelance writer and editor (lemme know if you wanna hire me), who lives in Portland, Oregon, with a handsome guitar-playing builder, a smart and science-y college student, three ridiculous cats, and the assortment of wild critters who patronize the Back Porch Bistro. I’m also a part-time family care partner for my mom, who has Alzheimer’s.