darkemeralds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darkemeralds) wrote2012-01-14 03:18 pm
darkemeralds) wrote2012-01-14 03:18 pm
An exercise of will, part 2
Today I'm knitting. Knitting is part of my Big Plan For Self-Improvement In 2012.
It's taken years, but I've finally accepted that "self-improvement" doesn't mean changing what I am. It means being better at what I am.
Well, what I am, among other things, is a craftswoman, and I like knitting. So I've decided that 2012 is the year I become as good a knitter in reality as I am in my imagination
I've defined four knitting skills* I want to master, and four big projects** that those skills will help me achieve this year.
My first proving ground is an Aran-style cardigan, which I started in November. Last night I finished the second sleeve, and this morning I looked at those sleeves in the proverbial cold light of day.
It wasn't a happy moment.
I told myself some stories about how I could make them work. Tight forearms could be a style statement...yeah! Nobody will notice the weird leg-o'mutton line of the shoulder...right?
I argued with myself for fifteen minutes before I finally admitted that the sleeves were simply wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. A month's worth of knitting, wasted.
In The Practicing Mind, Thomas Sterner proposes a simple model for any practice, drawn from Buddhist tradition: Do, Observe, Correct.
Well, I'd Done, and, like most hurried Westerners, I was about to Re-Do. I always just Re-Do. It is the slowest, most inefficient way to improve at anything, but it's the way our entire society seems to favor. "Again! Repeat! Go-go-go!" We hurry to do it wrong one more time. Only the naturally gifted move ahead, while we sacrifice loads of potential talent on the altar of haste.
Just as I was about to start ripping those sleeves out, something went *ping*. It said, "Slow down. You're about to make the same mistakes again."
So before I raveled a single stitch, I Observed. I checked my math and found my error. I measured everything again. I acknowledged a second problem with the sleeves that I'd been ignoring. I photographed, annotated, and Evernoted. I updated my written pattern.
Then I ripped the sleeves back to the shoulders and started them all over again.
This time, all the uncertainty and wild-ass guesswork of the careless first Doing are gone. This is Correction, and I know it, and so the work is calmer, more confident, more regular. Faster, even. It's better.
I think I'm beginning to understand these magical people who consistently produce high-quality work without angst. I think I might be able to become one of them.
It's about time.
*matching increases and decreases, Kitchener grafting and bind-off, short-row shaping, top-down raglan shoulders
**Two cardigans, a jacket, and possibly a pullover.
It's taken years, but I've finally accepted that "self-improvement" doesn't mean changing what I am. It means being better at what I am.
Well, what I am, among other things, is a craftswoman, and I like knitting. So I've decided that 2012 is the year I become as good a knitter in reality as I am in my imagination
I've defined four knitting skills* I want to master, and four big projects** that those skills will help me achieve this year.
My first proving ground is an Aran-style cardigan, which I started in November. Last night I finished the second sleeve, and this morning I looked at those sleeves in the proverbial cold light of day.
It wasn't a happy moment.
I told myself some stories about how I could make them work. Tight forearms could be a style statement...yeah! Nobody will notice the weird leg-o'mutton line of the shoulder...right?
I argued with myself for fifteen minutes before I finally admitted that the sleeves were simply wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. A month's worth of knitting, wasted.
In The Practicing Mind, Thomas Sterner proposes a simple model for any practice, drawn from Buddhist tradition: Do, Observe, Correct.
Well, I'd Done, and, like most hurried Westerners, I was about to Re-Do. I always just Re-Do. It is the slowest, most inefficient way to improve at anything, but it's the way our entire society seems to favor. "Again! Repeat! Go-go-go!" We hurry to do it wrong one more time. Only the naturally gifted move ahead, while we sacrifice loads of potential talent on the altar of haste.
Just as I was about to start ripping those sleeves out, something went *ping*. It said, "Slow down. You're about to make the same mistakes again."
So before I raveled a single stitch, I Observed. I checked my math and found my error. I measured everything again. I acknowledged a second problem with the sleeves that I'd been ignoring. I photographed, annotated, and Evernoted. I updated my written pattern.
Then I ripped the sleeves back to the shoulders and started them all over again.
This time, all the uncertainty and wild-ass guesswork of the careless first Doing are gone. This is Correction, and I know it, and so the work is calmer, more confident, more regular. Faster, even. It's better.
I think I'm beginning to understand these magical people who consistently produce high-quality work without angst. I think I might be able to become one of them.
It's about time.
*matching increases and decreases, Kitchener grafting and bind-off, short-row shaping, top-down raglan shoulders
**Two cardigans, a jacket, and possibly a pullover.
no subject
And yet, the number of teachers who actually do this is so small!
no subject
It is a time-consuming process, however, and it strikes me that it would have to be strongly supported by the whole system to be practical. I'd love to experience an environment like that. I honestly don't think I ever have. Maybe in kindergarten.