For many years I have had to travel a lot for work; a relentless schedule of hurrying here, to get there, in time for that, to ultimately get back and do the other. Always thinking of next always in preparation for what’s coming. In this entire shuffle though, I have noticed an island. The island lies just beyond the security gates and TSA, and extends to that hallway just before baggage claim at your destination.
It is time that you are only secondarily in charge of, time where you are trying to make the best of what you have to work with. Some use it productively, to “catch-up on work” or catch-up with friends or reading. But inevitably it seems like extra, extra time, extra hours, somehow a bonus to the actual travel stasis time you are waiting to pass.
I’ve noticed others tend to us this stasis time less productively, to conjure existential angst, to figure out the exact reasons they bug you so much, or generally to wallow in ennui of epic proportions. It is to you people (that’s right I said “you people”) I offer hand-craft.
Last week week I had to attend to some family business in Florida. It’s a short flight, about two and a half hours. Normally I scan through various media devices and poke at various written tomes until, like a caged animal, I am delivered to my destination.
This time I decided to man-up and take my knitting. I know that statement might sound a little oxymoron-ic, but I’ve only recently begun to feel comfortable knitting in front of strangers. I remember after 9/11 how up in arms some of my knitter friends were about the ban on knitting needles on planes. They claimed they would go insane without it.
Last week I got it. I was working on a second Fibonacci sequence scarf. The two and a half hour flight felt like about thirty minutes. I put four inches on the scarf. I didn’t overthink anything. Travel eased by the focus of maker morphine.