The joyful incompleteness

“You put more value on every minute. You know, I always kinda thought I did that. I really always enjoyed myself. But it’s more valuable now. You’re reminded to enjoy every sandwich and every minute.” - Warren Zevon on his terminal cancer diagnosis (Image by Joshua Woroniecki)

For a knitter, I have a real shortage of knit hats.

It's not just that I don't have as many hats as I would like (or would like to give as gifts). It's that there are so many hats I would like to make — fabulous, intricate patterns that I see on sites like Ravelry and bookmark for later.

I could be frustrated by my lack of hats and my lack of progress toward the hats I want. But I realized early on in my knitting career that the whole fun of the hobby was knowing that there were always beautiful things I could be making and still more beautiful things to make. It would never end, and I would never be finished.

Maybe "later" never comes, and I'll never make even half of the hats and sweaters and fingerless mitts that I hope to. I think that's the point. The desire is as important as the act of following through on it.

When I took up knitting, I was recovering from a miscarriage and finding it hard to be hopeful about anything. Making my way through a challenging pattern in a gorgeous yarn gave me something to look forward to the next day. I wanted to see how my project would turn out, and then when that was done, I wanted to try another one. Day by day, I gained back my vitality and enthusiasm. There would never be enough time to knit everything that I wanted to, and that brought me joy instead of pain.

During the pandemic, I've found solace in a number of new endeavors. A sense of industry tempered my anxiety as I discovered endless challenges and opportunities. Another new business, another new hobby, another new client, another new writing project — why say no? I always want to have something that I'm eager to do when I wake up in the morning. I want to keep turning the pages to see how the story ends, and at the same time, I don't really want it to end.

Of course, there's always the risk of taking on too much and not following through on things. I'm the one who puts off watching the last few episodes of the TV series because I don't want it to be over. So part of the deal is recognizing that, in a practical sense, there's always another one of everything. I don't have to be attached to the things I have or that I have found. I'll never run out of new things to get excited about if I choose to look for them.

In truth, life is finite. But my experience of life doesn't have to feel finite. When I think of all of the things I could create, all of the people I could meet, and all of the places I could go, I taste the sweetness of immortality. I'll die before I do all of it — and that's the point. Who wants to actually check off their whole bucket list? What then?

Instead, I will revel in the joyful incompleteness of it all, savoring the experiences I have and whetting my appetite for more. Life is too short — and that is the beauty of it.