I arrived early for the Wednesday Knitting Circle, which gathers at a local coffee café. Pulling out my bag of yarn, I began work on the three-colored sweater. The balls of brown, peach and ivory yarn form bands of different widths and textures. Around and around I looped the colors through my fingers then between the points of the needles. The control of tension created by my fingers keeps the stitches looking even. As with life, too little tension creates slack and a sloppy appearance. Too much tension leads to a stiff tight finish.

At other tables in the café, I notice that the people sitting with their laptop computers are left to their solitary pursuits. However, like walking a puppy, knitting in public often invites conversations with strangers. A man doing a crossword puzzle at the next table looks my way and asks what I am making; he explains that he used to crochet. We chat briefly about the focus and relaxation one gets from handwork. The man speculates that if he had been allowed to crochet in school he would have been able to pay better attention to the lessons.

One by one the other members of the Wednesday Knitting Circle arrive. We squeeze in closer around the table, ordering cups of coffee and tasty snacks. Some members pull out yarn to give or trade with others. We offer suggestions to the knitter who intended to create a baby blanket; she is now considering transforming it into a sling for carrying the infant instead. Appreciative cooing rises as each member unpacks the current work in progress and begins to knit.

My mother told me that she learned to knit at the age of three. Her nine siblings needed a steady supply of socks, mittens, hats and sweaters to endure the Canadian winters. The youngest of the children, the ones who could not do the heavier chores, had the task of knitting. Mom taught me how to knit, but I never had to knit in order to have warm clothes.

After the hemorrhagic stroke I had a few years ago, I took up knitting again with a new purpose. Connecting the stitches from right to left between the needles as I mended the connections between my left-brain and my right. Now, knitting has also become a form of relaxation for me. Most of all, it has helped me to release the bonds of my desire for perfection.

In knitting, you can correct the mistakes. I have learned the term “frog,” meaning rip it, rip it, rip it, unraveling row upon row. I have learned that to “tink” (knitting spelled backwards) I must undo the stitches one by one.

There is another option though, and that is to let the mistake remain uncorrected. I have learned that others will not see these mistakes, but I will always see them. It is liberating and humbling. It is so human.