I’m sitting in the waiting room of my dentist’s office, knitting. Note that I started knitting the day before this. So what I’m holding in my hands is a frumpy, misshapen length of purplish yarn that vaguely resembles Tennessee. The dental hygienist, who’s known my family for years, rounds the corner to call my sister back and immediately notices my knitting. 

“Oh cool, what are you making?” 

I awkwardly explain that I just started, and whatever I’m creating is a far cry from some possible product. Obviously, this sweet woman had no intention of making me feel bad or discrediting the work I was doing, but it still struck a chord with the part of me that felt like I was under-performing by knitting something that would never be more than some rows of lumpy yarn. 

It got me wondering — are we constantly dissuaded from hobbies or bettering ourselves if it isn’t immediately quantifiable? If we can’t show someone the scale dropped 20 pounds, or brag about our latest promotion, or excitedly tell our dental hygienist that we’re making a sweater? I go through phases where I’m convinced I’m going to fix my life in one fell swoop, promising I’ll suddenly hit a high protein goal and be able to run a mile and also stop looking at Instagram reels. Or I’ll try and pick up a new hobby and envision myself as a master from the jump. But every time I do this, I’m inevitably met with all the messy fixings of progress. Setbacks. Failures. And, worst of all, nothing to show for my efforts. 

Think about when you were a kid, in preschool even, before anyone was grading you or tracking your progress or cutting you from the team. When drawing a picture just meant experimenting with pretty colors, and soccer practice just meant running excitedly after the ball. I tried anything and everything when I was little, enrolling in basketball, ice skating, tennis, karate, soccer, softball, gymnastics and anything else that would get me moving around. And, honestly, I sucked at most of them. 

I remember when the feeling of being discouraged slowly crept in. Why do gymnastics if I couldn’t do a front roll like the other girls? Why draw if I wasn’t the best artist in my class? Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about having fun and learning new things and started being about what I could prove I was good at, what I could offer to the world at large. 

The same thing goes for self-improvement. We do things to look better, look thinner, look stronger, have less-dark circles. We need outward proof to the world that we put in the effort and it amounted to change. Skincare is for clearing acne, not preventing skin cancer. Sleeping well is to help reduce that inflammation, not to help you get through the day. Even exercise is about how much you can lift, how long you can run and how many calories you can burn. What’s your pace, what’s your PR, what’s your ceiling? And really, if it’s lower than someone else’s, is it even worth it? 

It’s bad enough to not be able to expressly show outward progress, but what if, horror of horrors, we actually get “worse”? People are afraid to eat more because they might gain weight, even if the alternative is being hungry all the time. Women especially are afraid of getting “bulky” at the gym. What if you try playing soccer and suck really bad? What if you try drawing again and realize that you never developed in skill past the third grade? What if you start knitting only to create a lumpy blob of useless knots? There are so many things I was too afraid to even try. 

But what if we reframe our standards for success? What if it was about enjoying our lives, even if it is invisible to anybody else? I enjoy sitting and pulling the little loops from one needle to another. It’s meditative, even if I suck at it. I want to make art for the sake of enjoying the colors, eat food for the sake of feeling nourished and full and exercise for the sake of enjoying the activity. It’s easy to forget that our lives should be fun and fulfilling — not easily digestible.
The increase in social media consumption has undoubtedly affected how we view ourselves and our progress. I could open my phone right now and see a hundred “What I eat in a day” or “Here’s how to get pilates arms” or “My 5 to 9 after my 9 to 5” or “Ten Trader Joe’s products to avoid” videos, each one showing us that somehow we’re doing everything wrong, and these people are doing it right. They’ve cracked the code because they can condense it into short-form content and a snappy caption. But there is no way to truly measure inner peace on Instagram, no matter how happy and fulfilled these people look. 

Even the way our economy is set up determines our value as a product rather than a person — the hours we work, the ideas we can think up, the services and goods we offer are vital to our survival and status. It makes sense that we’re all going around banging our heads against the wall for not being perfect enough when practically everything is set against us. 

So let’s take this one baby step at a time. Do not decide you’re going to learn a whole new skill in a night or that you’re going to eat 100 grams of protein a day because someone on the internet told you it would make you sleep better. These are not goals we can meet, and the inevitable failure will dissuade us from even trying. 

Instead, grab some crayons and scribble out whatever colors make you happy. Take a walk and look at the birds without the need to tell everyone about it. Listen to your favorite song as you try a new soup recipe because it sounds yummy and filling. Our lives are for us, not for the whole world, not for the internet, not for the other people we know. Your progress is not about putting down all the data into a neat little summary, but about waking up one day down the line and realizing you feel better, even if just by a little. 

Maybe I’ll never really knit something “real,” but if I can sit in the afternoon sun and watch the single strand of purple yarn become rows of little loops, that’s enough to make me happy. I don’t need a sweater.