humility lesson

i discovered something about myself yesterday when i found myself ripping out an entire ball's worth of knitting.


i knit like i approach everything else in my life.


i start off, excited. not fussed about the details. raring to go. 


then, i plow ahead. without much regard for the details. i want to discover what's ahead. i'm willing to make mistakes. i'm even more willing to go the distance to meet and exceed whatever goal i've set for myself. 


sometimes this works for me. the story ends in triumph. success. accolades. cheering. all of which is in my head. the point is, i feel good about myself. which means i'm encouraged to repeat this courageous approach to the new and exciting. 


but every now and again, courage and willingness alone does not serve me well. 


for the love of knitting for myself, i cast on for an oatmeal pullover: my very first attempt at an adult-sized sweater. 


i cast on well enough. read the instructions and knitted away. it was such a quick and satisfying it, i was already fantasizing about modelling the sweater for you all next week.

at around the third step, i relied on my memory of the pattern rather than double-checking the instructions. disaster. if i had continued, my right arm would have been pointing to my left shoe, were i to attempt to wear it. 


i've started over since. i know there's no harm in starting over. especially when the consequences can potentially be detrimental.


but the lesson has stuck. in my personal, professional, and knitting life.

sometimes it is important to carefully go through and appreciate the process. most times, double-checking and triple-checking the facts really pays. 


i know, right? duh.


so here's to making a mindful effort to take my time. at everything. and see where this new approach at life takes me.


just because i live with toddlers, it doesn't mean i should think like one (all the time, anyway).