I've only been knitting for about 3 weeks now; my friend Stephen taught me after he caught the knitting bug ("the only man who could ever teach me, was the son of a preacher man...").
As an artist who's been laying fallow for way too long, it was a great joy to be making things with my hands again... the low bar for entry was a big plus (though my yarn habit is beginning to get out of control, pretty soon I'll need a sponsor, an intervention or sheep).
It was frustrating the first couple hours trying to get the points of my needles under the tight stitches... I was pinching the yarn loose at every stitch and there was none of the grace of more seasoned knitters around me...
I kept at it though, learned to loosen up... became one with my needles, one with my yarn (warm & fuzzy, occasionally twisted and frayed)...
Now, I've got 3 projects going... a scarf (knit knit knit... then knit some more), a waffle stitch scarf (look ma, I learned to purl!)... and my first knitting in the round project: a ribbed watchcap (why can't they make condoms ribbed on both sides like hats?)
My needles don't clack like Morse coders after an espresso binge, but perhaps in time... I have come to appreciate the profound utility of that which distinguishes us from dogs and chimps... the opposible thumb.
Whether it's advancing the stitches along my needles, slipping a stitch off or holding the tension on the yarn just so to pull a loop through, the beauty and versatility of that special digit holds me in awe.
It's not just for wrestling or hitchhiking anymore... no more messy plumb extractions.... Oh no, not for this knitter. While others schlump through their dreary lives with theirs wedged up their arses, we few, we happy few, knit.