I received some sympathetic comments on Instagram this week when I shared evidence of a sock being unravelled. But, honestly, I didn’t mind so much. The stitches were soon back on my needle and a heel flap magically emerging as I sat on top of the bus.
A long time ago, I realised that my joy of knitting is in the act, not the result. Honestly, if I want a knitted item that I can wear, wash, and wear again I’ll go to a shop. But for the pure meditative pleasure of creating, I knit.
Can the same be said of sewing? I think the two acts are quite different. Or they are for me. Sewing is faster (I’m a notoriously slow knitter). I’m often sewing towards a quite distinct vision of an outfit. And sewing definitely satisfies a practical need in my wardrobe, more than knitting does. I don’t really need any shawls in my life, but I’ve knitted two. What’s that all about? The act of knitting.
I’m not sure I have an act of sewing, though there is definite pleasure to be found in the process alone. Five years into sewing, there’s muscle memory there. Reassurance around returning to familiar processes. And, of course, there are always the clothes! But is doing better than done? Does your energy ever fade like a deflating balloon once the final stitch is in place?