Some time soon, don’t cry, I shall put down my pencil and knit. There is purpose to knitting. You might end up with a scarf. Socks at a push. Or even a VERY long and VERY thin tie as I did for my father when I was little and still thought that parents were gods. The tie was yellow. Bright. To his credit he left the house with it. No wonder it took me decades to get slightly, only slightly, disillusioned with the world. The things I made for my mother you don’t want to know about. Particularly those I never finished. Goethe said that there is never more hope than at the beginning. And he was right. As he is. Someone else, and he is even righter, that to finish something is hard. And it is. You start something (say knitting), you drop a stitch (unnoticed by you till thirty rows later). Then you have a choice. Depending on temperament and character: Unravel or forget about it.
To this day I am undecided.