a knot in the skein

picture this…you move four hours and two states away from your friends, your family, your job, and the ultimate (cue dramatic music) your comfort zone.


Day 1 Post-Move:  The Skein


it’s been two long, hopeful weeks since your last job interview and you still have no foresight into whether or not you’ll be employed in the near future or if you’ll finally (and- let’s be honest- eagerly) have to resort to becoming a stay at home dog-mom buried in yarn. (believe me, it is a strong contender while considering all of the options)

your box of yarn stash and project bags glowing with the comfort of home are still sitting in the corner of the living room behind the other boxes of appliances, books, and furniture you’re still not entirely sure will fit into this small one-bedroom apartment.  you couldn’t possibly consider opening those boxes without the underlying guilt that will undoubtedly consume you as you sit amongst the wreckage of the fresh move.

at the end of that very first day, you reach for the refrigerator door looking for something to satiate your stomachs not-so-gentle demand for food, just to realize all you are going to see is that bottle of champagne that was gifted you as a “congratulations-on-the-big-move” gesture. and while that, too, is very tempting you decide you better consider your liver just a little more and go with some take out Chinese food and ice cold…er…luke warm tap water.


i know what you’re thinking…how can this only be the “skein” and not the “knot”?! hang tight and you’ll find out exactly why.


Day 2 and 3:  The (Supposed) Knot


rinse, repeat.  as this time passes the glow of those comfortable boxes gets a little bit brighter as the boxes of crap start finding their homes within closets and cabinets and corners- but the guilt still looms close. on day 3 you end up finding out that you did not, in fact, get the job that you had put all of your proverbial eggs into your proverbial basket for.

there it is…the knot.  the big ol’, quadruple looped, “tried-to-wind-a-mini-skein-on-your-lap” knot.


the glow grows brighter and further away.


now even for someone who is, admittedly, fond of change and largely optimistic- this can be enough to feel like perhaps you might be in over your head. or that somehow you’ve taken 5 big steps back by making the decision to indulge in your oh-so-favorite activity of shaking your life up in a big old “Yahtzee-like” cup and tossing it carelessly into the wind just to see where the pieces fall.


however, the glow still remains there and once this “knot” can be negotiated through hard work, positivity, and perhaps some divine intervention; the skein will continue as it always does.  nobody gets to a knot in a skein after making a sweater for a year and a half and throws it out of the window, or into the trash.  they look at it, slump over and sigh with a little bit of frustration, and then they try it on, look in the mirror, and realize that once they get past this knot and they keep working it will be an insignificant glitch in the process.


it will certainly never be seen as a glitch when you wake up on a snowy Vermont morning and have the most beautiful piece of wooly art to wrap around your body. that knot and its memory will be a dull glow (replacing the light given off by your – then–  neglected and lusted after knitting life) existing just to remind you that you capable of more than you think and that is why you picked out the skein with the knot.


14 thoughts on “a knot in the skein

  1. What a great essay! Real life as we live it. I know the right job will come along for you. Keep knitting and writing and podcasting! You have the support of so many people!


  2. It’s certainly a giant leap of faith into the unknown. I like your writing style and analogy. Having untangled quite a few skeins myself, I can see you’re on your way to a beautiful work of art. Tangle on!


  3. Hello Chelsea, you are way more than enough and you are doing amazing at life. Your writing is amazing and thank you for it.


  4. I, too, have some knots in front of me.
    Your story helps me know that I can get through this, fix the knots and move on.
    I love you and your mom.
    You brighten my day.


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