Letting go is hard to do…
Going through the yarn bins this evening led me to the conclusion that I really have too much yarn. No, really. I have too much yarn in my stash. Too much yarn that I bought when I was a new knitter, when I gave in to the “oh shiny!” of it all (well, I still do that, I just know to buy a whole project’s worth of one dye lot), too much lime green and hot pink Cascade 220 (what the hell was I thinking? Did I have a project in mind for that? Or was I crazy?) and too much yarn that I bought before I’d figured out what I like to knit. Too much yarn I won’t EVER use. So I’m slowly going through it. Some if it is good, still in ball bands and so I think I can give it to someplace like Stitches From the Heart. The rest, I’m not sure where I’ll donate it. Maybe Goodwill can sell the stuff that Stitches can’t use, like laceweight variegated alpaca in garish colors and all the eyelash yarn.
But letting go is difficult. And sometimes things remind you of other things that have nothing to do with what they are on the surface.
There’s all the baby yarn I bought back when I was hoping that maybe things would work out and the ex Mr. YP and I would have another kid one day. That hit me like a punch in the gut. I don’t care to knit any other babies gifts with that yarn, I don’t think. I would rather just let it go. If only the feelings of loss were as easily dropped off next to the charity box. I wasn’t done yet. I wanted more kids and I waited patiently for him to be ready, only he never was. And now there will be no more kids for me, ever. Not one last baby. I’m done. I have no choice. My own body has up and chosen for me. He chose for me. How do I let that go?
There’s the Cascade Magnum I bought to make yarn dreads when I still had the time and energy to go out clubbing and chill in goth clubs. Hard to do that now that I’m a single mom who has to get to work reliably and find childcare if she wants to go out. Sometimes it feels like my days of having fun, of having a life that makes sense, of being able to gather with my friends and just dance until the lights come up, it feels like those days are gone forever. I don’t have a lot of “fun” these days. I have my kids, I have four cats, I spend a lot of time taking videos of kittens sucking on knitwear, and I go to work and try to muster up energy to cook dinner at night. Somehow, making yarn dreads just seems… useless. I can’t wear them to earn a living.
Then again, sometimes letting go isn’t so hard. You realize that you let go a long time back. That it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.
There’s some Lambs Pride I bought when I was felting bags to sell to raise money for our dog’s vet bills, after she died. That was hard, but I’m done now. I loved her, I miss her, but life moves on. Besides, I’ll never wear anything in white and tomato red and I hate mohair. That stuff is FULL of mohair. Let it go.
There’s the cotton my mother in law gave me that’s left over from the 1960’s. Cotton I frogged from the halfknit cardigan she’d shoved into the bag with the rest of the skeins, but never washed. I am honestly never going to use that cotton. And since my marriage has broken up, it’s not like I need to keep it to avoid hurting my mother in law’s feelings. I’d say that whole divorce thing is probably bigger than some cotton in the Goodwill pile. I can’t worry about pleasing my inlaws anymore, can’t pretend or put effort into masking who I really am from them so that they’ll be comfortable wtih me. Let it go.
It’s a process, this letting go of things.
Reading a lot of Crazy Aunt Purl’s new book these days. And wow is that ever stirring up my own weird, not yet finished, still grieving, divorce stuff. Sometimes it feels like I’ve barely tapped the well. I almost wish I could take a page out of her book, just spend months with wine and Cheetos and the crying and get over it. So it would be OVER. I wish that I could feel something and then it opens up and I feel too much, so I slam the lid back on.
How the hell do you let it go? When it’s not something you can just easily leave next to the charity box in the parking lot of Ralphs at 3am because you’re carrying it around and it’s still a part of you?