I am the home to a solitary soul. I am not a shy person, although I am finding it increasingly difficult to go out and meet new people. I've always suffered from a bit of social phobia, but it seems to getting worse as I get older. That being said, I know I am not a shy person. I am not a snobby person. And, like my mother, I find that I am attracted to people who are typically are unseen in our daily lives. When I was younger, my mother was always striking up conversations with the oddest people. Just take the ticket, Mom, and move on already. But I, too, find myself going back to tell the guy sweeping up the floor in the rest stop that he's doing a great job.
I've always enjoyed being by myself. In college, some of my best memories are in a carroll by the window on an upper floor of the library. I loved being in the study room in our dorm. It was covered, floor to ceiling, in this orange shag carpet. It was kinda like those cat play houses with little nooks to crawl in an out of. One of my favorite ways to spend an hour or two is parking my car in a nice sunny spot with a hot drink and a book. My dream retirement home is a tiny arts and crafts bungalow with lots of light, a small fireplace, and a few good spots for a big comfy chair.
I also know that I can isolate and that's not good for me. I spend an inordinate amount of time in my own head. It's not always the softest place to fall for me, so for my own well being, I need to spend time with others. Usually, those occasions are situations I create for myself, like leading a book group or work. I know enough about myself to know that a big part of the reason I have enjoyed these activities is because I set them up on my terms. In other words, I am in control. I am still in my head.
But there are other times I connect with other people and I am completely out of my head. When I played my clarinet, I could loose myself in the music. I miss it a lot and keep meaning to get back to my instrument. When I starting taking sewing lessons, I fell in love with it. I sewed a lot, but as Connor got older and I spent more time sitting by playing fields, I couldn't exactly bring my machine with me. Then came knitting.
My mom knits beautifully. She encouraged me to knit and with her amazing teaching skills, I caught on. She had me start with dishcloths and I knitted every pattern in the books I bought from Jo-ann's. One day, I screwed up the courage to go into my local knitting shop and, as the saying goes: That's all she wrote. The first time I knit with "good yarn" it was like I died and gone to heaven. The feel of it in my hands was truly gratifying. And then, a finish product? Forget about it. I fell. Hard.
But the best thing about the knitting shop is the women. I started knitting classes and found the smartest, cleverest, most hilarious group of women. We sit around the table and let it rip. We've laughed, we've cried, we've laughed until we cried. The night the stripper came to celebrate Auntie's 80th birthday, I thought I would wet my pants. I have learned a lot from these women, not just about knitting, but about womanhood in general.
There have many nights that I've deprived myself of this self-care. Some nights, I'm just too tired or too blue to drag myself back out into the world. And sometimes, I don't go. But other times, when I really to feel that "Red Tent" kind of care that only other women can provide, I go. On those nights, I am renewed and reknit together to go back at it again.
