An important discovery

Last month at my Toltec Mitote ceremony, our wise and wonderful Rainbow Marifrog shared an observation she'd noted with her shamanic eyes: how I hold myself back. In that instance the observation pertained to the Baby Jags group who started the Toltec work I began last year in May. Rainbow saw how I held myself at a distance from them. When she asked me about it I immediately recognized the accuracy of her observation, which became the invitation I've been working with ever since: why do I hold myself at a distance from others?

Oh my. What I found within is something I've carried most of my life. I have perceived the world and people around me as potential threats to my tender young heart. Growing up with a mother who is an addict prompted a pattern of awareness that served to protect me, but as I aged the pattern became a barrier to intimacy. I have held myself at a remove, paralyzed by fear of rejection and judgement.

An addict's first love, their highest priority is their substance or means of numbing themselves. I was a highly sensitive child, empathetic, vulnerable - and I experienced my mother's addiction as rejection. To this day I experience addiction as rejection, which is why it's hard for me to be around someone who is actively addictive.

My father was loving, and I have 2 brothers who I know care about me. Love, music and laughter were alive in our home. I think I've been perceived by others as a happy person: light, loving, fun.

Unbeknownst to even me there has been a kernel of fear churning within, knocking around, gaining mass. My goal is, that as I face this fear, confront the lie of rejection and judgement, that a pearl will emerge - shimmering with compassion, forgiveness and mercy.

I have lost many opportunities to engage with people I genuinely love. My intention moving forward is to be present to what is and stop searching every interaction with a negative bias, to notice the beauty in those I encounter.

This scares me, my inner little girl. I read this moving blogpost from a woman, Angeliska,
learning to self-mother/reparent herself. It is a poignant read that resonated deeply. Luckily for me I've got a tribe (a tribe a rarely reach out to, because of this fear) of support and Milo to help me on my way.

pictured: Milo

I've got work to do, but hey, I think this is why we're here.

Cultivating wholeness

Emerging from entrenched patterns of thinking, I am pleased to be able to tease apart essential truths from what is now compostable. Gazing back at a murky scramble of emotional pain and confusing experience, the embedded spiral thread of my authenticity becomes the DNA link between my history and my future.The victimhood I've become aware of can rest on the riverbank, exhausted from the effort to be seen and saved. I cradle her daily, and, more certain of her safety, she is integrating with me, trusting me, and guiding my awareness. She knows where underlying roots and rocks distort the stream, steering my vessel on a truer course.

[ meet Milo, my sock monkey ]

When my young traumatized self flew out of me, thrashing and wailing, pointing to all the injustices I hadn't recognized as such, my awareness tipped toward all the wrongs, throbbing with shame and dismay. Today, having patiently stirred my pot while adjusting the ingredients of my brew, the complexity of my being is manifesting with a balanced palate of flavors.

[ my cliff-side tree in March ]

I can recognize again the beautiful sweetness I've tasted, the sparkle of love I have received and given, the exquisite sensuality I have savored with lovers over the course of my life - all tempered by a dash of bitterness, a pinch of the brackish, a note of sour grapes.  Returning to wholeness, joyful memories outnumber the traumas by an overwhelming margin, a semblance of homeostasis is available again. I can return to my regularly scheduled programming.

Except, my programming is no longer what it was. In fact, programming is the last thing I want to return to. What I am returning to is my center, a place I am creating anew each day, attuning my being to the rhythm of nature, honoring the seasonal and cyclical, observing what is, adapting to the song of her. Trusting my intuition to lead me in harmonic resonance, the music of my life has become more improvisational, less strident, more nuanced.

[ I see an anatomical heart here. Do you? ]

 I'm feeling ready to play again. Yay!

Contractions

I'm still here - making progress in fits-and-starts - regressing - moving forward. That is the pattern of birth, isn't it? Sometimes blissful, others jarringly painful, my movement toward authenticity continues. I don't want to go back, that is certain. It's the uncharted way forward that freaks me out some days. But I have regained trust - in myself, in what I know, in who I want to be - which is all I hoped for.

[ Pip next to my latest completed projects ]

I'm still knitting, though with less fervor and at a calmer pace as-of-late. I've tried to cast-on a new project twice now, and both times it looked wrong. I swear I was casting on the same as every other damn time I knit a fucking washcloth, but both attempts failed and I had to pull it apart and pause before starting over. Rather than berate myself for my failure, I'm pausing to witness my goings-on. What is the barrier I'm facing?

I trust I'll figure it out and find the way forward.

Vulnerability is Beautiful

I've spent a lot of time putting on a show. I was a fear-full child, but learned to cope by throwing myself into uncomfortable situations and, along the way, found I could survive what I feared by over-riding my gut instincts. Wow! Such success. By the time I was in my 50s I'd established a pattern grounded in going way outside my comfort zone. Granted, that comfort zone was small and needed expansion -but- there was a fundamental flaw to this scenario: I left a part of myself behind -  where it was trampled, stomped on and flattened by a vast herd of toxic masculinity, misogyny, self-loathing and shame. All the vulnerability and innocence I thought was lost, however, was just waiting for me to rediscover it - to honor, nurture and coax it back to life.

After the 2017 holidays and start of the New Year, I found I needed to pull my energy back in. Thinking about my Toltec awakening and what I learned, I've come to a place where my energetic being needs my presence and care. The established pattern of thrusting myself into discomfort no longer serves the evolution of my consciousness. I'm finding boundaries I didn't know existed and am playing with the awareness, sometimes over-reacting, but thankful I've found my edges, my center. I'm still finding what's in-between. Perhaps that's for me to create?

New Year, new yarn, new project for me: a shawl

Balancing the need to continue taking risks with the need to honor my inner guide will be a challenge. This is where my village will help me. Here's a quote from a poster that was on the wall of my high school guidance counselor. Decades later, these words radiate a truth I recognized long ago when I memorized them:
   
     Because we cannot see all of ourselves, by ourselves, therefore we need one another if we are to get in touch with all that is in any one of us. - author unknown

⟹⟹⟹⟸⟸⟸

Thank you for being a part of my village!

Making Merry

I'm not feeling the Christmas spirit this year. I'm not one to cast blame and don't want to dwell in negative headspace. However, this year toxic masculinity and patriarchal rule have taken their toll.

What's a girl to do?

Reach out to Mother Earth. Touch her. Breathe her. Send energetic beams down through her layers, along the surface of her beautiful face, out to the edges of her horizons and the pinnacle of her atmosphere.

This last photo reminds me that we need support to grow. When we send out tendrils and latch on to supportive structures we are able to reach our highest potential.

May the new year bring fortification to women and our allies, that our wisdom, intuition, strength and hope will move families, communities, businesses, government and our world toward a healthier more balanced future. 

Thank you for being part of my support structure. 

after #MeToo

The triggering of my sexual assault wounds predates 2017 #metoo. My own reconciliation has been rolling out since 2015, and I'm still recognizing sexual experiences for the assaults they were. The avalanche of sexual assault accusations after the 2017 use of the hashtag #metoo should come as no surprise to anyone, especially since the election of our Sexual Predator-in-Chief. With 45 in office, a man who is a sexual assault perpetrator and denier, my old wounds began to fester.  However, without this aggravation the tsunami of injustices would have remained largely dormant.

The aggravation requires treatment. I am thankful for this opportunity and accept my role in healing myself. I'm learning to trust my body, love my body, to honor and respect her. Rampant cultural misogyny lead to fear/blame of my own feminine being. Now I'm training myself to love not only the injured parts of me, but the part of me that accepted, believed in and reinforced misogynist ideas about all women. That's the deepest wound of all.

Shortly after waking each day, I pick up my knitting and go in to the zone. While I float there in the amniotic fluid of creation, thoughts occur. Some challenge me, others soothe. Be they difficult or not, it is all part of the flow. I am learning not to over-identify with any of it. It's all fleeting, temporary.

Today's washcloth progress

Scarf for John. Notice the improvement since I started? 

He will be wearing a functional testimony of my progress

Forgiveness is transformative. Compassion is beautiful. Women are sacred.

Braiding Wisdom

Shifts occur when a person takes action. When I was in a swirling confusion of despair, along came my friend Kate Heiber-Cobb and the Braiding Wisdom course series. I've attended most of the sessions held in 2016-2017, and wouldn't be where I am today without them. Braiding Wisdom was the branch that snagged my collar and kept me from being swept away.

It was through Braiding Wisdom that I met my friend Lavender, who inspired me to write daily gratitudes. Both Kate and Lavender helped me see who I wanted to be - a woman, grounded in nature, connected to lunar cycles whether I'm ovulating or not. All the women at the Braiding Wisdom classes were a part of my opening, by being their humble, beautiful selves in a circle of inquiry and authentic sharing.

I'd lost sight of who I wanted to be.

I knew my healing wasn't going to come through my primary physician. A fine practitioner she is, but allopathic medicine treats symptoms. I'm after the underlying causes. I understood, when I got quiet, that it was through body work, earth work, spiritual seeking and community I would find my way to a healthier happier me. I will take a prescription if I have to, but my goal is to do this organically, in harmony with the natural world.

My life has been serially focused on what others need/expect of me. I feel like a toddler, trip-tumbling forward. Some days I'm overflowing with potential, others I'm a vacant lot, parched and dry. I try to honor what is and not beat myself up when the way forward isn't clear. Those days are tough.

I knitted this morning, dropped John at work and took Reese to Governor's Island for a walk. It was a windy frigid stomp, but I was gifted with a new path, one I'd never noticed before. It led to a pine stand, one of my favorite places to pause, breathe and be.

I've been obsessed with noticing exposed tree roots. I love them. They're a metaphor for the work I'm doing. I observe their tenacious paths through turf, soil and rock. Their gnarled interlaced systems  go unnoticed, while feeding and supporting the above-ground growth. Today it was a tree clinging to a rock ledge that caught my attention. The root system was a marvel of grim determination against all odds:

I will visit this tree often to offer encouragement and admire its beauty.

Here. Now.

I am lucky to be here. I don't want to hide behind a mask of perfection, pleasantries, polite small-talk, etc., any more. Authenticity is the challenging new paradigm I seek to manifest. While it sounds impressive and empowered (and it is) it's also surprisingly awkward.

This year, beginning in May, I participated in a 6-month course called Master Your Awareness: A Toltec Way of Knowing. Early on in the course participants were asked to identify what masks they wear. These masks, strategies we called them, developed over the course of life - to understand, cope with and make sense of a confusing and complex world. My main strategies were: Pleaser, Isolator, Distractor, Victim and Savior (there are a total of 15 or so). As you would imagine, it's not easy delving in to these - turning them over, probing their origins, fathoming the scope of their influence. Yet delve we did. In a supportive circle, the group worked to hold space for each member as we mined this territory together.

What we learned was, the strategies we'd been employing were impeding authentic connection. If I wanted to leave behind this outdated mode of relating, I had to grapple with and release the strategies that I'd not just become accustomed to, but had woven tightly to my identity. At the stage of life I'm in, newly postmenopausal, I was ready for an overhaul; a new way of being. This was a gift I wanted to give myself.

Prior to my Toltec class, in March of this year I gave myself another fabulous gift, an Emergence Dream Retreat with Toko-pa Turner. I've been following her Dreamwork for years and the content she covers - the crafting of her words - rings like a bell in my heart. The dream retreat was central to my transitions this year as I learned to capture, listen to and understand the language of my dreams.

But, there was another gift waiting for me, one I hadn't expected. What Rainbow, my Toltec teacher and therapist, and Toko-pa helped me discover and nurture, is connection with Mother Earth. I've relished time spent in nature for years, and the rejuvenating power of it has nourished me time and again. What's changed is my relationship with Mother Earth. I've gone deeper, opened more fully to her - found her welcoming spirit, her unwavering love, her magic. It is through connection with Mother Earth that the mind calms, the heart opens, and perceived boundaries dissolve as I allow my energy to merge with hers.

 [before sunrise on the marsh]

Our Toltec class concluded in October, the weekend of my birthday/re-birthday. Since the end of the group I've been able to pause, listen to my heart, knit, write, and ask myself what I want to manifest. The time I make every day to spend in connection with Mother Earth is central to my authenticity. She knows me. Accepts me. Holds me.

She is me. I am part of her.

We are one.

Not awkward at all.

Believe me

My inclination is to trust, at face-value, any accusation of sexual assault. I'm not a statistician, but feel it's safe to assume only a minute percentage of sexual assault accusations are unfounded. People are not largely motivated to lie about this shit. For fuck's sake, who, in their right-mind, would fabricate a false sexual assault claim?

Answer: almost no one

Witness the vast masses of people who've locked assaults in a remote vault of their consciousness, some of whom will only stumble upon these secrets late in life.

When I graduated from college at 51 with my second 2-year degree, the world appeared rolled out in front of me, red-carpeted, ready for this perfectly-seasoned new Occupational Therapy Assistant to cruise forward. I'd been a high-honor student and received job offers from both my level 2 fieldwork sites the first year after graduating. I was poised for success.

Not long into my nascent professional life a quiet but perfect storm blew-up. I was working at a job I loved - really loved - when 3 fronts collided:

• my hormones went ka-flooey, launching a 4-year walkabout on shifting foreign estrogen-and-sleep deprived soil
• I had what I thought was an affair, which turned out to be a sexual predation experience that ripped open the hidden vault of sexual assaults I'd encrypted and archived under the label: my fault
• my son was hit by a car

It was a super slo-mo descent to being unemployed, as I slowly gave up on myself in various capacities. The dark suicidal days on the way down to the bottom were punctuated by functional stretches of hope. And when I reached bottom I chose to stay there and have a good look around - see what all the fuss was about.

Turns out there's a lot of shit down there - untriggered mines with the potential to blow a person's mind to itty bits. So slowly, mindfully, I've taken inventory of all those experiences (at least those I’m able to remember). All-the-while I relentlessly pursued evidence of my right-to-live. I engaged professional help and have had the good fortune to befriend a tribe of staunch supporters.

The steep climb back out is daunting, but at least now there is no hurry. I know what's back there. There's no Temple of Doom giant rock barreling down on me. I dug it up - beat the shit out of it - turned that soil - planted new seeds. I can proceed with intention and focus now, knowing I finally have my own back, along with the loving support of those who know me and love me anyway.

[pictured: my 1st morning attempt at knitting. I euthanized it.]

The End of Misogyny

This is what I'm working to overcome:

I'm highly sensitive to the fact that what I've experienced is not the worst of the worst. I hung back for a long time in silence because I didn't feel entitled to share my experiences - they weren't extremely violent - what did I have to complain about?

This silencing, this perceived safety, kept me from escaping the web of shame. I've felt responsible for the sexual predation encountered throughout my life.

I've been thinking about sexual predation a lot lately. We hear a lot about the overt predators who move fast and make no effort to conceal their intent: the Harvey Weinsteins, the guy who opens the door in a towel ready for a quickie.

The predators I hear about less often are the covert ones, the groomers. They're patient. They dangle grapes above your lips and drizzled honey coats their words. These predators persistently pursue their quarry in hopes of taking you down in a consensual manner, with overtures of love, passion and promises of a future together. It might look like an affair - ala Bill Clinton, but, make no mistake, their goal is not a long-term relationship. This predator will ride you like a cheap pony until they, for whatever reason, can no longer ride you.

It's embarrassing to think back on all the occasions I was preyed upon this way. I was naive. I wanted a real relationship. Instead I got played.

Which leads me to how these predators are usually referred to: as players. So please, let's flip this narrative. They are not players they are sexual predators.

The question begged then is: where is the line drawn? When is prosecution the solution? How do we move forward?

I don't know, but, what I do know is that women need to be taught to wholly love and respect themselves and our culture must uphold this as the standard. BOTTOM LINE: the eon of misogyny has to end.

The future of our planet depends on it. We rape and pillage Mother Earth because of the pervasive mindset that her resources are there for the taking. Awareness is rising, but the race is on. Can we heal her in time to save our species? Or, have we already ravaged her to the point of no return? Only future generations will know. She will go on, but will we?

These are the things I think about while I knit. I finished another washcloth while I mulled over the end of misogyny. Here is the End of Misogyny washcloth:

The fuck-ups are evident, but that's all part of the mission here. Fuck up, reconcile with the fuck-ups and move forward. The key is in leaving the fuck-ups behind. Dragging that shit forward is the pattern I'm releasing. Yay for me.

More shitty knitting, less bad news in my ears

I listen to NPR's Morning Edition each morning while I knit. I'm an early riser, and I like to knit in front of my happy light while I listen to the radio and sip my tea between rows.

This morning I woke to the news that Charlie Rose stands accused by at least 8 women of sexual misconduct. I hope what people are getting is that for every famous person accused, there are a bazillion un-famous people who have committed these same crimes. Yes, you heard me right, crimes.

Fucking insanity - literally.

As I process the bullshit I've endured as a woman in this world, and the more stories I hear from women who are doing the same, I frequently find myself needing to take a step back.

Today, I had to turn the radio off. Knit in silence. Breathe. Un-clench.

Here's the latest completed project alongside my new one. I'm using a new stitch called Moss Stitch. It's a variation of Seed Stitch. I think it's swell.

It's not always zen

...sometimes it's a fuckity fucking cluster fuck.

This sunny Sunday morning, while sitting in front of my 'happy light' knitting, I started a row and the first stitch felt wrong. I did not stop, but plowed forward: k1, p1, k1, p1...

At the end of the next row I found a gigantic loop of a stitch and remembered that tug I felt; the one I ignored.

FUCK!

Grumbling, wimpering, I un-knitted 2 rows. It was hard, but I persisted. That's what grown-ups do. When an adult fucks up (it happens), they admit it. When they realize what's fucked up, they do what they can to mitigate the damage.

The crumb of insight I gleaned was acknowledging I ignored what I felt. There was a nudge in the mistake I made, which, if I'd inquired, would have saved time, energy and preserved self-esteem.

Don't ignore nudges. Whether it's a physical cue, intuitive, emotional, whatever - I need to pause and inquire. I am entitled to ask questions. I don't have to accept every shitty situation that comes along and let it steamroll my intent. I can stop and face whatever-it-is and say, "Hey. What up?"

Meeting myself where I am, taking stock of the factors in play, being present to what is, choosing a path forward: all these adulting things I lost are coming back to me. Un-knitting my mistakes, painful as it may be, is what I aim to do.

Trust in myself gains a foothold and I look up for my next opportunity.

Me, reconfigured

I'm on a path less traveled and it's scary.

Lest anyone think I'm lounging around, enjoying freedom from punching-the-clock, let me lay it out for you:

I am navigating a dark night of the soul. I have gone through these before, but this time I simply lived to the edge of the limits I could bear. I couldn't take another step without a time-out to sift through the detritus of my wreckage, to cull the insights gained and archive the accumulated bullshit.

I hit a concrete wall, the likes of which I've encountered a couple of times in life, but those events were preceded by obvious triggers that would foreshadow a life-changing experience.

This time there was nothing but a slow starvation of estrogen that hijacked my mind, carved a canyon of insomnia 4 years-long through my sleep schedule, while my body morphed into a foreign entity. Also, there was that 8-week episode of possession by 12 year-old me that flagged a deeply buried injury in need of healing.

Wait. This is not a condition I could point to and say life-changing?  See how the patriarchal poison slips into my perceptions? My weak-feminine cultural conditioning is revealed as my nascent fierce-feminine, smart and scrappy, fights back against a lifetime of toxic masculinity. This is what systemic abuse against my womanhood has wrought, that I couldn't see menopause as a legitimate reason for my breakdown.  I remember I'm a witch now, still learning to see things differently.

I'm at the threshold of a freshly-infused woman-positive gestalt, and I'm thankful for my knitting and writing. Both serve to remind me what my personal truths and visions are. Time spent wrestling with words and yarn offers insight that might not otherwise arise. The pace of a handicraft is an inviting doorway to mindful presence. I tune in to my body and breath as I sink in to the rhythm of stitches.

I believe women are the metronomes of humankind. If we shift the rhythm of our beings, the world may eventually fall into step with us.

New yarn

There's this definition of yarn: 1. spun thread used for knitting, weaving, or sewing.

And there is this definition of yarn: 2. informal a long or rambling story, especially one that is implausible.

The metaphor is everything.

My story, my long, rambling, implausible story, is playing out here through the yarn.

So, with another shitty washcloth knitted, today I will choose a new yarn; step in to a new space.

This is how change begins.

Sexual abuse is pervasive

The fact that I felt the need to apologize about posting too much about sexual abuse is evidence I've got more work to do.

I'm watching a Netflix original film titled The Keepers (thanks, Nina). It's a true story, told in 7 gripping episodes, of women who are investigating the murder of one of their favorite teachers in 1969, a Nun at their Catholic school in Baltimore. What unfolds is a heart-wrenching story of their quest for truth that exposed the systematic abuse by the school chaplain and other men, of students during the late 60s and early 70s. The brave souls who stepped forward shared corroborating experiences then suffered re-abuse as their stories were doubted and dismissed by the diocese, the police and the state attorney in charge of sexual crimes. 

Systematic. That's a key word.

Sexual abusers work systems, manipulate as a means to protect themselves and use blame and threats against their victims. The system can be a country, a business, a government, a municipality, a fraternity, a religion, a family. Vulnerable people have been abused throughout time and across organizations of people, be they vast in population or nuclear. Sexual abusers are everywhere.

I want to be done blaming myself. I have lived small and quiet. I'm not sure what's next, but there will be knitting involved.

[pictured: the washcloth I finished this morning]

Breaching my boundaries

I was listening to NPR yesterday evening, as I often do, and they were reporting on the allegations that Louis CK repeatedly exposed himself to women, masturbated in front of them or while on the phone, etc. Disturbing for many reasons, one of them being I LIKE HIS COMEDY!
WTF, dude.

While cleaning up after dinner I reflected on an experience I had, years ago when I was a single parent. A guy I knew peripherally asked if I would sleep with him for $1500.

I declined. 

He persisted. 

The conversation went on too long, and the last offer I received was that I watch him masturbate for $1500.
Ugh.
No.

A lightbulb went on last night when I remembered that  that guy was good friends with none-other-than the older boy (young man? He had to be 4 years older than me) who molested 12 year-old me. WTF? I'm not assuming they talked about me, but I can't rule that out either. It is a weird coincidence, though.

So this morning while knitting I reflected on what happens when you're young and someone manipulates you into doing something you really don't want to. My boundary was breached - the sovereignty of my body, breached. I blamed myself for it. I guess I still do. Why did I let that spider spin a web around me? I can't answer that. But, I do know that it got easier to breach my boundaries after that. In fact, what boundaries existed?

I am here, now. I am thinking that as a broke single parent I turned down $1500 to watch a slimy guy jerk off.

Good for me. Tiny crumb of insight, see?

There was a boundary that wasn't crossed.

[sunset on the channel]

Getting better

In many ways. I have to be thankful that I'm able to dive down to the bottom and crawl back out. I spend days in the fog of my own war, but emerge, eventually. Progress has been spotty. Still, I need to fete the gains and integrate those tiny crumbs of insight, rather than indulge the impatience that laps at my mind. Life is a beautiful mystery and revelations are rare. I need to embrace the mystery. I want to worship the mystery and forgive myself for seeking explanation at every turn.

[pictured here: calendar, journal, book - 

You are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life,

 and my shitty knitting]

Knitting is meditative. It relaxes my mind. I'm thankful for my beautiful shitty knitting.

This summarizes yesterday:

I need to read The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van der Kolk, M.D.  I bought it, started reading it and stalled. The body work I need to access is closely guarded by a falsehood of my own creation.

When in doubt, knit

It is widely understood that when a young person is traumatized, their development is likely to be disrupted. Thus, when a trauma is revealed, therapy is often recommended in assisting with finding and bridging these developmental gaps.

Through my training in occupational therapy I grew to understand the therapeutic value of 'activities.' Much of my work in the field has involved helping people engage in activities that add value and meaning to life. Facilitating those experiences brought me great joy. The variety of activities I was able to develop stimulated me professionally and provided ample opportunity to be creative and resourceful. I've been out of that work for a while now and I've had time to reflect on something.

While I rejoiced in creating fun activities for others, I almost never created those opportunities for myself. But now I'm charting a new course. Knitting is my new therapy. It's a gift I'm giving to myself - long overdue.

Over and over I meet the twelve year-old girl in me. She shows up in the irritation and impatience I feel when I make a mistake. Adult me models calm, steady problem-solving for my wounded inner child. It is extraordinary to witness. The parts of me that were certain forgiveness was a forbidden realm are softening. I can almost feel her leaning, sometimes, against my chest. She trusts me.

Through knitting I am rebuilding trust in myself. I get to reconfigure my responses to the world around me. I never asked questions. I accepted what I was given - took what life served - ever in reaction mode. I get to change that.

Today when I was trying to decide what to do next, I chose to knit. It helped.
Here is the result:

The Pride of Completion

When I encountered obstacles I had to pause and figure it out before moving forward.  It is satisfying to cast-off and knot a project.

 This is the most complete and actually decent thing I've ever knitted. Perhaps I will grow up after all.