Communal strength

I’d been looking forward to one date on my calendar for months, though I knew making it was never guaranteed. The day before surprised us with an aging family member’s medical emergency and hours in the ED until he was admitted. As someone who supports the primary caregiver, my plans for the next day became even less certain. Thankfully, our loved one is stable, and I was able to escape to the real world and spend a few hours refilling my own strength with friends and our shared interests. It’s not selfish to do this. My own strength helps me support everyone I care for. I have so much gratitude for all the people and reasons that made it possible, and for the friends who shared hugs on my behalf the day before when it seemed the next day wouldn’t happen for me.

Being at a fiber event (in this case, VK Live), getting hugs from people who understand all the complicated parts of me as a fiber artist, as a Jewish woman, as a friend, as someone who knows the specific kind of tired that comes from caregiving, reinforced why showing up to groups that matter is worth it. Even when you just want to sleep an extra hour. Even when you’re running on fumes and there is not enough caffeine in the world. Even when it’s brutally cold. Being with people who get the needs, the hopes, the challenges, and who don’t think twice when you pet their beautiful handmade garments.

Two days later, I’m still basking in that warmth and feeling full.

The VK Live event has always been challenging for me. The Vogue connection triggered my imposter syndrome for years. January in NYC is rarely warm¹, Times Square is a place I avoid, and I would always leave frustrated and not “getting” why so many loved the show. I experienced this for years and kept trying to figure it out without success. It felt hollow despite working with many yarn companies and teachers, so I wasn’t a stranger. There were people I thought were friends. But I was missing a connection, it wasn’t that I needed to be connected to the event, but to a community.

Now there are several groups I belong to, and to my surprise, that shifted everything. All because of community. The internet and social media helped, but I hadn’t recognized how they provided useful connections, but not community. My experience at the show changed because of my becoming part of communities that care.

Through Instagram and a found friend I discovered the Ethelridge Knitting Salon. I don’t attend as often as I’d like, but every visit reinforces why it matters. Laurie Kimmelstiel is a remarkable teacher, group facilitator, fiber artist, and friend. Making and thinking happen simultaneously at her salons.

The beautifully jewish community that Tanya Singer created is remarkable. What she built in response to October 7th’s pain is extraordinary: a beautiful space where being Jewish and creative are deeply intertwined. I made it to the tail end of their Sunday morning meetup after a very chilly walk over from Grand Central. I was not the most social person, nor the most energetic, and I was masked after Saturday’s ER visit, but the hugs shared were exactly what I needed. (Some shopping in the VKL marketplace happened after their event too. Maybe I spent more than I planned, but it all fit in my bag with the zipper closed, so I think I was restrained.) The group photos below show their meetup inside Sarah Divi‘s interactive snow globe installation. Used with permission.

This is what community does. It holds you when running on fumes. It lets whatever version of yourself made it through the door be enough. It reminds you the hard stuff doesn’t have to be faced alone. That social media introduces people, but eventually you need actual humans in the same room, breathing the same (filtered) air, sharing the same space.

The small Thursday afternoon group I started connects to this too. It’s small, intentional, and focused, built around showing up. I provide guidance with techniques, but I also know that sometimes a moment to listen can change a day. Five minutes of making can be grounding, especially when a method has been untangled. Perfection isn’t required for the work to be meaningful. Helping knitters and crocheters learn how and why they work brings its own joy and strength to me. If you’re interested and local, please let me know and I’ll send you details. I don’t have a dedicated spot on the website yet.

Sometimes making isn’t about the thing. Sometimes it’s about the journey and all of the people who help you get around. It’s about having somewhere to go where people understand why knitting and crochet happen in waiting rooms, on trains, in found moments. Where working on a start with chai hair ribbon for months as an EDC project doesn’t prompt productivity questions. Where showing up masked and tired and barely able to word, much less people, still gets met with understanding and hugs.

Community doesn’t fix the hard things. Family is still family, caregiving is often exhausting, and every day holds uncertainty. But community fills you up in the moments when getting there is possible, and has your back when you can’t. And the friendships that grow from showing up matter more than words can say.