Becca’s Self Discovery: A Wholesome Yarn

My entire life, I knew I was a knitter.

I loved knitting. I loved the way my needles felt slipping and sliding against each other. I loved the way my yarn piled up in gentle loops and knotted together to make patterned creations. I loved the way my projects laid in layers in corners and on tables and on the hands of my friends. I loved the way knitting made me feel.

But then I entered college, and suddenly I was confronted with a confusing new attraction.

Her name was Sam. Her smile was wide and her ambiguous racial complexion had not a hint of one blemish. A Texas native, she spoke in a deep southern accent and talked often of her adventures lassoing cacti and riding rodeo bulls.

Sam was my first.

Crochet teacher. She saw my wide enthusiastic eyes and the way I unconsciously drifted towards the crocheting needles, and she took me under her wing. I explained that this was my first time. That I was a knitter. That I was not a crocheter. That I didn’t yarn that way.  That I wasn’t …. Like that.

But still she persisted. Not with her words. Not with tangible pressure. But with that damn needle. With the way she held it, with the way she felt it, with the way she created, finished, projects with it.

Crochet needles are different than knitting needles. They’re softer, gentler. They work alone, needing only a soft, simple hump and a final curved hook. I was fascinated by the movement of crochet needles. I was fascinated by the beauty they created.

My first lesson was magical. I fell in love with crocheting almost instantly. I remembered my knitting needles. I remembered the way they felt against each other, and the way they felt against my hand. I just didn’t remember why I thought that my love of knitting somehow canceled my potential to love crocheting just as much.

I still struggle every day to couple my love of knitting with my love of crocheting. I am a crocheter, but I am also a knitter still.  I am a Gosh-Yarn-iter, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.


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