The Process

In meetings at school, I constantly have people looking over my shoulder or coming up to me afterward asking, “what are you making?”

I get strange looks and laughs when I shrug and say, “I don’t know,” and unravel whatever I have created.

I began crocheting almost a year ago. I taught myself after I taught myself to finger knit, using online tutorials and the occasional advice from a friend.

I don’t crochet to make things. I’ve tried, and I’ve got a half completed scarf that will never be finished, and a handful of patterns for potholders to show for it. But the product isn’t the point for me. It’s the process.

I need something to focus on besides the meeting, and I need something to do with my hands. In the past, I’ve created grocery lists, epic boxes upon boxes of doodles, and have sewn and repaired several cloth diapers, felt toys, and wee folk art gnomes. When I found crochet, it gives me something to do – something that is quiet, doesn’t bother anyone, and as long as I stick to one stitch, something effectively mindless to do that nonetheless takes concentration. Weirdly enough, this helps me focus on the meeting instead of finding myself asleep in a puddle of my own drool.

And then I unravel all of it, and start over.

Because what I’m making doesn’t matter, so much as the process of making it.

I try to remember this, both working with my students, and while playing with Voldemort. If we plant flowers and plant too many seeds per hole, does it matter? If I let Voldemort help me bake cookies, and he adds too much sugar, does it matter?

It’s the process. And the learning that takes place with it. Too many seeds means too many flowers, and some might die. Too much sugar means we might not be able to eat the cookies.

So we unravel the problem, and start again.