Page 21 of Close Knit

“For sure, my wooly duckies, I am definitely considering hosting a knitting retreat.” I say my biggest dream out loud to the twelve hundred people currently watching the stream.

I want to hide and tell them that the reporter made a mistake. But the comment section explodes.

@KnotSoCalmKnitter:there’s no link in your bio, how much is this going to cost

@Yarnivore:can’t make it this year will u be hosting next winter??????????

@MakingMemories:Will it be virtual or in person?

@WeavingWitch:COME TO PORTUGAL PLEASE

Maybe I can handle some of these questions tomorrow, after a good night’s rest.

“Tonight’s knitathon was a blast, friends. Remember,knit happens, so take it easy, and I’ll see you on Saturday’s live!” I sign off and end the livestream.

I take my phone off the tripod and sit in my boucle chair by the window with my knees to my chest. It’s already seven o’clock. Since moving here almost a month ago and adjusting to the time zone, I’ve found it best to start my streams late in the evening to chat with followers back home and here.

Living alone hasn’t been all bad. I miss my sister’s hugs after her long shifts, sharing meals, and the little things you only notice about the people you love. My heart pangs with loneliness. Though it’s been nice not being woken up at 3:00 a.m. by the blender, I do hate the silence. My TV is constantly cycling through reruns ofGilmore Girls,New Girl, and, if I want to cry,This Is Us.

I unmute my TV and open Instagram to find exactly what the article said that might have given my followers the impression I’d be hosting a retreat.

My inbox is flooded with over a hundred messages. My notifications are brimming with new followers. I catch a tag request from theStone Times.

The post is a photo of me at UCSF Medical Center, surrounded by bags of beanies. The caption announces that I’ll be starting a knitting retreat to help people with anxiety find coping mechanisms through knitting. All the plans are apparently in place, and I’ll be making the announcement soon.

My heart stops. I must have misspoken in the interview. I could email Liv Parker to clarify, but my community seems excited.

Indecision washes over me. The usual intrusive thoughts take hold.

How much money would it take to run an event like this? I have some savings, but should I use all of it? How do I manage taxes or hire staff? Where would I get yarn? Could I reach out to the brands I’ve collaborated with in the past? What would the timeline look like?

A real businessperson would know these answers. Beyond logistics, can I meet my followers’ high expectations in person without editing? There’d be no room for a retake, no magic filter. And, perhaps most importantly, am I qualified to help others with their mental health while managing my own?

Anxiety suffocates my chest.Okay. Deep breaths.A calming tactic since my first therapy session at twelve. Now’s not the time to spiral and give in to the little voices in my head.

Isn’t this the whole point of my Yes Year—to do things that scare me? This definitely scares me, but it’s more like riding a roller coaster than running through a dark forest with a vampire on my heels.

“I’m a Yes Girl,” I say to the empty living room, stretching my arms overhead.Take up space, be confident, believe in yourself.

I’ve moved to a new country alone—sure, one I’ve been to plenty of times before and into an apartment that was my mom’s—but I’m alone this time, ambling along the Thames, exploring bustling markets, and revisiting the museums of my childhood. My bravest move yet was stepping into a club alone, but anxiety crashed the party as soon as I got swept up in the crowd.

Still, this is feeling like an opportunity I need to say yes to.

I want to bring people together through knitting. To create a sanctuary for those struggling with their mental health. Share the joy of wearing your own creations, the magic of fixing your mistakes, and the tranquility of hands and minds in sync.

My streaming income from YouTube, pattern sales, and brand partnerships—in which I get paid to post content for different brands—have given me more than enough for a comfortable living. I don’t have to pay rent in this apartment, and Juni always covered the bigger half back in San Francisco, so I’ve been careful with my savings. Would I spend money that I’ve worked hard for to make this happen?Yes, my heart answers instinctively. I can spare a couple of thousand dollars to start. Plus, the perk of having an accountant for a mom is that Dani can help me with any tax write-offs and a strict budget. She’s done so in the past.

My nerves strum up again, and I grab my needles. Even when my thoughts calm, my anxiety manifests physically, begging for an escape. Tonight, I knit a Celestial Scarf for my online shop, a midnight blue piece flecked with tiny white stars. I’ve been weaving stars into more and more new designs.

Hosting a retreat has been my dream for years, and now that the article is out, it feels right. But my brain spins. There are so many moving parts. Where do I begin?

I need to start small, like I did knitting beanies for UCSF. Begin with a pattern, check my gauge, cast on stitches, and knitrow by row. Break it down into manageable steps, make a list, and tackle the tasks one by one.

Once I have some answers, I can share them with my followers.

I need to get out of my apartment. If I stay here, I’ll spiral and probably spend hours doomscrolling.

I wish I had a friend here. Just one. Yesterday, on the Tube, I complimented a girl on her crochet bag, but she just glared at me and put on her headphones. People here have been less chatty than in the States.

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