I had worked at the same desk in the same chair since 1992, and the best thing about it was that I had a boss who didn't mind those times when I had to stop active work and take a break at my computer.
At the time I was a really active crocheter and made some wonderful sweaters and was starting to get really adventurous with my craft. When I wasn't doing that I embroidered a lot. A lot. I was starting to get really adventurous in that too because I had just found the amazing Nordic Needle store online, which led me to all kinds of new to me techniques. I was at an adventurous, creative place in my life, and I was ready for more.
I was also socially isolated. I worked more than full time in a small office. I was the only female at my company, and there were only 2 other females in the building. My kids were out of school and because I worked, I had not formed any close bonds with people through school. I had two other friends who lived close to me. And of course, family, my mom, and sisters, all of whom lived in another city, and my sisters in law. I did have a large and vital group of online friends, both men and women, whom I love dearly still, but that was my entire circle, the sum of all the people who were a regular part of my life. I had very, very few close friends.
Sometimes it felt like I wasn't really there at all. It felt as if I was invisible, as if no one knew me. My decision to start writing was a way of stating my existence in the world, a way of marking my territory and drawing my line in the sand.
And so I wrote. I am not sure if, on that first day, I ever imagined that I would still be writing 10 years later. I don't think I could have possibly understood how large a role this almost daily scribbling would play in my life, nor how it would come to sustain me and support me in my darkest of days.
Most days, the writing is about knitting. Some days the writing is about what I am doing instead of knitting. Some days, the writing has been fluff, and occasionally filler, to make sure I kept the habit up. Some days it is about things and little people who bring me so much joy and laughter. Some have been so raw that reading them still makes me cry. It is a record of a life, out where others can see it and read it if they choose.
Readers mean I am not alone. I am grateful that you stop by, glad that many of you became friends in that weird way the internet has. I know parts of you and you will not be unfamiliar if I meet you in real life. I am glad that some of you have become friends in real life, and am thrilled that some of my childhood friends found me again on the internet, grateful that my sisters occasionally pop by and cheer me on.
I didn't start writing for you. I did it for me. I chose the format because it was popular, and because it was a little bit cool to be blogging about a crafting life. Occasionally, I think about stopping writing it but it always comes back to the start.
"I need to have tracks, so that I have a honest record to explain the dirt between my toes. And my ears. And my hips...I read, I play with string, I work, I have a family, I am, I exist."
These are my tracks. This is my dirt. Thank you for playing in it with me.