It occured to me a few weeks ago that knitting is good training for life, if only I would apply the lessons I learn on the needles to the real world:

1. New things are neither as hard nor as scary as I think they’re going to be. Turning a heel intimidated me tremendously, as do things like sending in resumes for interesting sounding jobs. Turning a heel turns out to be remarkably simple, so why shouldn’t writing a cover letter be similarly so? (Picking up gusset stitches on the other hand may always remain hard — or, at least, odious…)
2. On the other hand, you shouldn’t attempt the unfamiliar (be it a cast-on that will affect your whole bloody project, microeconomics, or how to use Excel’s formulas) when you are already tired and cranky and ought to have been in bed a while ago. Hint: When your partner wishes you good luck and heads to bed is the point at which you should stop learning new skills for the night.
3. Little stuff takes the most time. I never think weaving in ends should take very long but it regularly takes me three to four times how long I believe it will. The same goes for those “last few boxes” when packing up for a move.
4. New projects should be approached as adventures. Knitters notoriously love to start new projects. The act of combining a pattern and yarn is deliciously addictive. Joining a group (like a knitting group or a volleyball team) ought to be approached with a similarly adventurous spirit.
5. Projects that don’t go as planned can be adapted into something wholly my own. For instance, I once neglected to realize that patterns are altered when you knit in the round and you have to approach it that way from the start. I didn’t, and as long as I continued on as if I’d intended for it to look the way it came out, no one was going to be any the wiser. This is somewhat similar to the “Whistle a Happy Tune” song from The King and I. You will make mistakes, but you can minimize how many people know about them by trying to remain open to new options. New trends have to start someplace, right?
6. Try to strike a balance between doing for yourself and doing for others. Never knitting for yourself will make you sad. Never putting yourself first in life will make you equally frustrated. Always focusing on yourself loses you the wonderful feeling of giving of yourself to someone who loves or needs you.
7. Don’t waste your time on people who won’t appreciate your talents. Don’t knit a hat for the friend who hates hats (or wool or whatever). Similarly don’t spend days arguing with someone whose mind is made up on a subject that you feel passionately or strongly about. (Alternately, you can surround yourself only with those who will fully appreciate you and your quirky self (although there is then the potential for ego overdevelopment).)
8. It might seem like you’re just going around in circles, but usually you are making progress. It’s just that you’re too close to notice it. Step away from the situation (or your knitting) for a little while and come back to it later. You’ll be surprised by how far you’ve actually come and how much less you still have to do to accomplish your goal.
9. Look for patterns. On its own a yarnover is just a hole. Combined with a decrease and repeated regularly, it’s lace. On its own, a single response to a situation is unique. Looked at in the context of similar situations, though, you discover how you cope (for better or for worse) with life. Life is in the details, sometimes.
10. Things that totally don’t work out or that I hate can (and possibly should) be scrapped. Life is too short to live with a garment or a situation I don’t like.