Thoughts from the Craft Room #1: The Papillon Shawl

Trust the Process (I Hated That Advice)

There are two kinds of knitters in this world.

The first kind casts on immediately and figures things out as they go.

The second kind reads the entire pattern first.

I am very much the second kind.

Before I start a project, I read the pattern. If it's a short pattern, I read the whole thing. If it's a long pattern, I do an intense skim. I want to know what's coming. I want to understand the construction. I want to know where I'm headed before I take the first step.

This is important information for what comes next.

For over a year, a cake of Hobbii Horizon in Tropical Sea sat on a shelf in my craft room. Every time my friend Sarah came over, she would look at it and ask when I was finally going to make the Papillon Shawl.

I wasn't avoiding it.

I wasn't saving it for a special occasion.

There was always just something else that seemed more appealing.

If I'm being completely honest, the pattern intimidated me.

The photos were stunning, but they also made me wonder if the project was beyond my skill level.

Then one day I found myself in a familiar predicament. I wanted to start something new, but nothing was jumping out at me. Since I'm currently trying to lose weight, I wasn't particularly interested in making garments for myself. I narrowed my options down to a few projects and sent the list to Sarah.

"Pick my next project."

Her response was immediate.

Papillon.

Of course it was.

So I downloaded the pattern and started reading.

The pattern is approximately one billion pages long.

At the very beginning, the designer includes a note specifically telling knitters not to read ahead. She explains that reading ahead will only confuse you and encourages you to trust the process.

Reader, I immediately read ahead.

Absolutely not.

I was going to understand this pattern before I cast on.

Within thirty seconds, I was completely confused.

What were the colored boxes?

Why did none of this make sense?

What exactly was happening here?

Most importantly, could I actually do this?

For a brief moment, I seriously considered putting the project right back on the shelf.

Instead, I cast on.

Partly because Sarah had waited over a year to see this yarn become a shawl.

Partly because I'm stubborn.

And partly because I refused to be defeated by a pattern that didn't even contain lace.

The first row made sense.

Then the second row made sense.

Then the third row made sense.

And before I knew it, I had accidentally followed the designer's advice.

I stopped worrying about the whole shawl.

I focused on the row in front of me.

Then the next one.

Then the next one.

The funny thing is that living in the moment is not something that comes naturally to me.

I like plans.

I like understanding.

I like knowing exactly where I'm headed.

This shawl didn't allow for that.

It demanded trust.

Not blind trust. Just enough trust to work the next row.

As the project grew, something unexpected happened.

I became a little obsessed.

The project that had intimidated me for over a year suddenly became the project I couldn't stop thinking about.

Around twenty rows in, I decided I wanted to understand not just what I was doing, but why it was working.

That's when I found Sun Dragon Tips & Tricks on YouTube.

She had created a series of videos explaining the construction of the shawl using a whiteboard, diagrams, and enough math to finally make everything click.

Up until that point, I could see that the butterfly was forming.

The proof was sitting right there in my hands.

But I didn't fully understand the mechanics behind it.

Watching that first video felt like someone finally turning on a light.

Suddenly the colored boxes made sense.

The construction made sense.

The butterfly made sense.

I never ended up needing the rest of the videos because once I understood the concept, everything else fell into place.

What fascinates me now is that the designer wasn't asking me to remain confused forever.

She wasn't asking me to stop learning.

She was asking me to wait.

To let understanding arrive when I was ready for it.

And maybe that's why this shawl ended up meaning so much to me.

The project itself turned out to be surprisingly easy.

The challenge was never the knitting.

The challenge was letting go of my need to understand everything before I started.

The challenge was giving up a little control.

The challenge was trusting that I could figure it out one row at a time.

When I finally finished the shawl and spread it out for the first time, I didn't have some deep philosophical realization.

My immediate reaction was much simpler.

Holy shit.

I need to show everyone I've ever known how cool this is.

After I block it, of course.

The funniest part?

The project that spent over a year intimidating me is now a project I fully intend to make again.

Sarah wants one.

I want a Halloween version.

I want a Christmas version.

Apparently, the shawl that taught me to trust the process has now become a repeat project.

I suppose there are worse fates.

May your yarn never tangle and your side quests be rewarding,

— Ally

P.S. If the next WIPs & Whimsy seems unusually acquisition-heavy, just know that Hobbii and I made some questionable financial decisions together during a late-night retail therapy session this week.

I regret nothing.

Well.

Maybe one thing.

But mostly nothing.