One of my family members knits in the most carefree fashion I have ever witnessed. No pattern, no plan, not even a stopping point in sight. The yarn doesn't match, the stitches may be uneven and the different sections of knitting which fit a particular time, energy level and mood are connected by ribbons.
I am a crocheter. One that never begins a project without insuring there is exactly the correct amount of yarn in the right colors with an ounce or two to spare. This step follows a tedious search through pattern books for just the right item. The thought of stepping outside a pattern, even though I have been crocheting seriously for almost ten years and have made countless adult sized afghans, baby sized blankets, baby hats, booties and even mittens along with scarves and washcloths, is terrifying and leaves me completely blank.
I take a similar approach to life. I rarely cook a meal or dessert without a recipe, I never go grocery shopping without a list and if you ask me where I see myself in ten years I have an answer. I like order, direction and plans. I need to see where I'm going and know approximately where I'll end up. Pretty much everything in my life fits this pattern. Everything but Wyatt and Eli, the outcomes I could have never planned. So I have had to improvise, stitch things together with ribbon and weave them into my life. Yet despite these two huge curveballs I still find myself unchanged in this aspect. I still cling to patterns, to recipes and to the belief that I am mostly in control. This facet of me is probably the most unchanged if not the only unchanged thing in me in the last eight years. Even though sometimes I think I would be so much cooler if I could just crumple up my pattern and toss it out the window at eight miles an hour, pattern comforts me and I need comfort.