I’m hitting a wall, as the saying goes. Ow! And while it’s not much fun, I kind of have a sense that this wall-hitting business has something important to tell me. Not sure just what yet.
Is it time for a gratuitous cute kitty photo? Sure it is. Because I have no images of me hitting walls.
I actually saw a friend punch a wall once, when he was angered by something big in his life, and his fist went right through the drywall. He’d been letting out this bear-yell while the fist was moving through the air, and once his fist crunched through and was actually inside the wall, he stopped yelling rather abruptly. He turned to me with this look of amused shock on his face, and said, “I punched the wall!” “Yes, you did.” “I punched my fist RIGHT THROUGH THE WALL!” He was grinning ear to ear, and we both started laughing, the doubled-over sort of laughter–him, with his fist still in the wall, of course. He pulled out his hand (carefully), and as he dusted it off, he repeated “I punched the wall!”
I think he was rather proud of himself. After all, HE had hit the wall, the wall had not hit him.
So am I hitting the wall, or is the wall hitting me here?
That issue of control keeps popping up–in my knitting, in my writing, in my life.
In my knitting, for example: I bought this absolutely to-die for sock yarn–Dream In Color Smooshy. I mean, the needles are drooling, seriously. But I must have swatched six or seven sock patterns with To-Die-For-Yarn so far, and nothing works, nothing suits it, nothing looks good. This is a very popular sock yarn, tons of people on Ravelry have knit socks with it.
Last night at knit night, I ripped out my sock about three times, until finally one of my friends said, “That sock yarn is fighting you—it’s telling you it doesn’t want to be any of those things!” Lightbulb!
And this morning when I looked at the ball of yarn in my purse, I realized that maybe the sock yarn did not even want to be socks at all. Maybe it wants to be a top, or a little scarf, or something else.
Point is: I’m trying to control the sock yarn, force it to be something, and maybe I could just let go a little and listen to the yarn and see if maybe there is something else pretty that it would like to be knit into.
I feel that way about my writing. Every day I sit and try to write something…and my writing fights back. We have arguments, my writing and I. I want it to be The Best Ever, and it just wants to be what it is.
The hardest part is that I think I’ve lost confidence in my writing–which is a ludicrous thing to say, given how many people love even what I post on forums. It’s as though other people can hear my stories more clearly than I can hear them myself…
I had a therapist once who said her job was to “return your story to you.” That resonates with me now…I have a story, and others can hear it and are asking for more…but somehow, I can’t hear it myself.
I wrote this in a forum post–maybe I need to hear it more than anyone else:
sometimes the best gifts we have for each other are the stories of who we are. It’s taking me a long time to figure that one out: stories are important and telling them is important.