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Jan. 26th, 2009 09:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valancystirlingGod, I really have probably thousands of dollars in knitting stuff sitting there. It's kind of sad, really. When I went through every bit of it, I thought back to when and under what circumstances I had acquired every skein of yarn, every book, every thing, and forced myself to be rational and admit that I was hoarding all of it because I apparently believe my identity depends on it. Having knitting needles in a vase on the bookcase, entire bookcases devoted to knitting stuff, baskets and baskets of yarn. And some of it, when I really got honest, I had had aversions to for years and would never actually use. How in the world can something like yarn be so wrapped up with emotion?
I've been thinking about how best to dispose of it. Dispose, I know, what a word. I'm using it because I'm working so hard on showing myself that it is meaningless, just stuff, and will not affect me except that I will be free, my house will be less cluttered, I will have less to move. And by free, I mean that now I have the freedom to go out and start over, buy the yarns that more accurately reflect my values (organic, fair trade, local, etc.) that I didn't really have during the period I was most fiendishly acquiring all that yarn. Free because I am no longer obligated to "use it up" as I've been goading myself for the past couple of years. Free because it no longer has a hold on me. I know, I keep remembering I'm saying all this about YARN and thinking how idiotic that is, but I'm sure people have had similar thoughts about far stupider things.
I saved some skeins of yarn that are especially beautiful and that I will ACTUALLY USE. I saved a bunch of partial skeins left over from projects, so I can repair those projects over time, and so I will have little odds and ends to make small things with, embellish, etc. Eventually I expect to be able to part with those too and start completely from scratch.
OH, and here's something even stupider. Identity stuff. Somehow I've always been just insecure enough that I've felt validated by having all my knitting-related stuff around me, to make me part of this bizarre knitting world that sprung up a few years ago. And for the first time, I was actually qualified to be part of it just incidentally, with no intention or effort on my part. I had the stash, I had the tools, I had the years of experience, I had all this under my belt, and to get rid of the bulk of one's stash and have a modest amount of yarn--yarn that isn't even visible but hidden away in lidded baskets--is tantamount to throwing away my membership in this club and feeling like a poseur. I felt legitimized by my mountain of yarn because it showed I had history, I was legitimate, I was no newcomer or wannabe, I was the real deal. FINALLY, in some area of life, I was genuine. Right now, someone would come into my house and look around and I'd have to convince them I was a knitter, that it was a big part of my life and had been for MOST of my life. And have I really cared about that? So when I say free, I mean free from all of that. Because I finally don't care anymore what anyone thinks, if I'm legitimate or not, what it all means, or any of it. I am what I am, and I will go on being, with or without props and displays.
In terms of "standards", whatever that means, most of my stash has been grandfathered in. The past few years have seen dramatic lifestyle changes in our family. We've switched completely to organic food. We're transitioning to organic clothing. Our bedding is organic. And all this time, I've had this pile of yarn sitting there, mocking me in its non-organic-ness, taunting me, and daring me to do something about it. Until now that something was unthinkable, but now it seems like it's a natural part of the bigger picture. I wouldn't keep a case of Dr. Pepper in the house for sentimental reasons, it wouldn't be grandfathered in, and yet there is the pile of yarn.
Also related to the identity aspect--before having kids, a huge amount of my time, money, and thought went in the direction of knitting. I went to fiber festivals, I embarked on epic knitting projects requiring Quiet and Focus, I kept up with all the trends, the designers, the new yarns, the drama, all of it. I worked in a yarn store, I taught classes, I gave private lessons. It was a job. It was a hobby. It was my livelihood and my community. And whether I realized it or not, my identity. And with the advent of kids, all that instantly fell by the wayside. Suddenly I had no time to worry about who was knitting what, other than worrying about whether I had time to knit anything at all, or if I could knit while a baby slept in my lap (yes). I went from being The Person to go to with all knitting questions to being the person least likely to show up at any knitting group, ever. In my little circle of moms, I am recognized as being a skilled knitter, but not the person to ask for a lesson. It's just not there anymore. But my mountain of yarn was there, part of the decor I suppose, a relic from a past life.
Is all this a bit too deep for knitting? Beats me. All I know is that I'll be happy to have all this stuff out of my house and out of my life.
So I started this post thinking about how I would feel best about parting with all the yarn. And in my head now, just now, it's no longer anything to me other than a couple of bags of stuff taking up space, and won't it be nice to reclaim that space.
But I do still have preferences for its departure. Since a lot of money is sitting in there, I will definitely try to sell the full skeins for as much as I can. So far I've only posted here and on the local parenting group, as I want to give people I know the opportunity to get nice stuff for not too much. Even a big bag of leftover balls of yarn is worth a lot really, in terms of what you can do with it if not in resale value. If all else fails, I'll weed out the really really nice stuff and give all the rest of it to the Ithaca Waldorf school or something. Or maybe it would be a good time to find a women's shelter and take it down there and do a series of knitting lessons. SOMETHING in that vein. I don't expect to get much money back from it--investing in yarn is a bit silly, really--so I'm hoping to get something else out of it.
Anyway, there.
I've been thinking about how best to dispose of it. Dispose, I know, what a word. I'm using it because I'm working so hard on showing myself that it is meaningless, just stuff, and will not affect me except that I will be free, my house will be less cluttered, I will have less to move. And by free, I mean that now I have the freedom to go out and start over, buy the yarns that more accurately reflect my values (organic, fair trade, local, etc.) that I didn't really have during the period I was most fiendishly acquiring all that yarn. Free because I am no longer obligated to "use it up" as I've been goading myself for the past couple of years. Free because it no longer has a hold on me. I know, I keep remembering I'm saying all this about YARN and thinking how idiotic that is, but I'm sure people have had similar thoughts about far stupider things.
I saved some skeins of yarn that are especially beautiful and that I will ACTUALLY USE. I saved a bunch of partial skeins left over from projects, so I can repair those projects over time, and so I will have little odds and ends to make small things with, embellish, etc. Eventually I expect to be able to part with those too and start completely from scratch.
OH, and here's something even stupider. Identity stuff. Somehow I've always been just insecure enough that I've felt validated by having all my knitting-related stuff around me, to make me part of this bizarre knitting world that sprung up a few years ago. And for the first time, I was actually qualified to be part of it just incidentally, with no intention or effort on my part. I had the stash, I had the tools, I had the years of experience, I had all this under my belt, and to get rid of the bulk of one's stash and have a modest amount of yarn--yarn that isn't even visible but hidden away in lidded baskets--is tantamount to throwing away my membership in this club and feeling like a poseur. I felt legitimized by my mountain of yarn because it showed I had history, I was legitimate, I was no newcomer or wannabe, I was the real deal. FINALLY, in some area of life, I was genuine. Right now, someone would come into my house and look around and I'd have to convince them I was a knitter, that it was a big part of my life and had been for MOST of my life. And have I really cared about that? So when I say free, I mean free from all of that. Because I finally don't care anymore what anyone thinks, if I'm legitimate or not, what it all means, or any of it. I am what I am, and I will go on being, with or without props and displays.
In terms of "standards", whatever that means, most of my stash has been grandfathered in. The past few years have seen dramatic lifestyle changes in our family. We've switched completely to organic food. We're transitioning to organic clothing. Our bedding is organic. And all this time, I've had this pile of yarn sitting there, mocking me in its non-organic-ness, taunting me, and daring me to do something about it. Until now that something was unthinkable, but now it seems like it's a natural part of the bigger picture. I wouldn't keep a case of Dr. Pepper in the house for sentimental reasons, it wouldn't be grandfathered in, and yet there is the pile of yarn.
Also related to the identity aspect--before having kids, a huge amount of my time, money, and thought went in the direction of knitting. I went to fiber festivals, I embarked on epic knitting projects requiring Quiet and Focus, I kept up with all the trends, the designers, the new yarns, the drama, all of it. I worked in a yarn store, I taught classes, I gave private lessons. It was a job. It was a hobby. It was my livelihood and my community. And whether I realized it or not, my identity. And with the advent of kids, all that instantly fell by the wayside. Suddenly I had no time to worry about who was knitting what, other than worrying about whether I had time to knit anything at all, or if I could knit while a baby slept in my lap (yes). I went from being The Person to go to with all knitting questions to being the person least likely to show up at any knitting group, ever. In my little circle of moms, I am recognized as being a skilled knitter, but not the person to ask for a lesson. It's just not there anymore. But my mountain of yarn was there, part of the decor I suppose, a relic from a past life.
Is all this a bit too deep for knitting? Beats me. All I know is that I'll be happy to have all this stuff out of my house and out of my life.
So I started this post thinking about how I would feel best about parting with all the yarn. And in my head now, just now, it's no longer anything to me other than a couple of bags of stuff taking up space, and won't it be nice to reclaim that space.
But I do still have preferences for its departure. Since a lot of money is sitting in there, I will definitely try to sell the full skeins for as much as I can. So far I've only posted here and on the local parenting group, as I want to give people I know the opportunity to get nice stuff for not too much. Even a big bag of leftover balls of yarn is worth a lot really, in terms of what you can do with it if not in resale value. If all else fails, I'll weed out the really really nice stuff and give all the rest of it to the Ithaca Waldorf school or something. Or maybe it would be a good time to find a women's shelter and take it down there and do a series of knitting lessons. SOMETHING in that vein. I don't expect to get much money back from it--investing in yarn is a bit silly, really--so I'm hoping to get something else out of it.
Anyway, there.
