I’ve been knitting for as long as I can remember—long enough that my hands know the rhythm without needing to look. It’s second nature now. I can knit in a lecture, at the movies, riding shotgun in the car. It keeps me calm. Focused. Present.

What started as a quiet pastime has grown into something much bigger. I’m now a professional and competitive knitter—third fastest in the world, believe it or not. But speed is only one part of it. I’ve designed original pieces, written and edited patterns for publication, and done the kind of math that makes most people flinch. Knitting isn’t just loops on needles. It’s a language. A code. A puzzle of charts and numbers where every stitch counts.

Knitting is also where I play. Colour is my joy—choosing yarns feels like mixing a painting palette. Will this be contrast or harmony? A bold foreground or a soft blend into the background? I especially love hand-dyed yarns for the way their hues shift mid-stitch, catching light and meaning in unexpected ways. Shirley Brian Yarns is a personal favourite; her colours are a masterful symphony.

More than anything, knitting is my refuge. A meditative space where my hands move and my mind settles. It’s my creative constant—especially when time is tight. These days, I mostly steal moments for socks (the ultimate portable project), or knit for my grandson. His blanket—requested by my daughter before he was born—is still in daily use for naps, forts, and cozy snuggles. That fills my heart in ways I can’t quite explain.

As long as I have yarn, I’m anchored, even if it’s by the finest yarn..