There is a particular satisfaction in finishing a jumper.

A jumper is not a quick project. It begins with an idea: the yarn, the colour, the shape, and the person who may eventually wear it. Then come the long stretches of knitting—row after row, sleeve after sleeve—until, almost suddenly, there is something complete. Something warm and useful. Something that did not exist before.

One reason I knit is for that ability to bring something to an end. Knitting offers a clear process: a beginning, a middle and an ending. You cast on, work steadily through the project, cast off, and hold the finished piece in your hands. It is a simple sequence, but one that brings a deep sense of satisfaction.

Some projects are relatively quick. A hat can be started and finished in a short time, with the reward of completion close at hand. A sweater or jumper asks for more dedication. It needs patience, returning to it again and again, even when the novelty has worn off. Then there are the marathon projects: blankets large enough to cover a bed, built stitch by stitch over months or even years.

Each project has its own pace, but all of them have a beginning, a middle and an end. Each brings its own kind of satisfaction.

Life is rarely so tidy.

Many of the things we do every day do not come with a clear finishing line. Bringing up children does not end when they reach a particular age or height. Cleaning a house is never truly finished; there is always another load of washing, another floor to sweep, another job waiting. Even after retirement, there can be a feeling of searching for the next thing, or wondering what should come next.

Perhaps that is why I find completion so compelling. It may also explain my enjoyment of true crime, Sudoku and logic puzzles. They all promise an answer. A mystery is resolved, a puzzle is completed, and—at least for a little while—the world feels as though it has an order to it. The bad characters receive their just deserts. There is a rightness, a conclusion, a sense that loose ends can be tied.

The jumper I have just finished carried an especially strong sense of completion. I began it years ago, before I retired. At some point it lost its hold on me and sat, unworked, in a bag for years. Since retiring a couple of years ago, I have still found it difficult to slow down—to stop looking for more, or feeling as though I should always be doing something else.

Eventually, I decided I needed to return to some of the projects I had abandoned. I wanted to go back, in a way, and finish at least one thing.

It took discipline. There were times when I had to push myself to pick it up and keep going. Finishing it was not only about the jumper; it was about keeping a promise to myself. I had started it, and I wanted to see it through.

Now it is complete. I feel better not only because I have a finished jumper, but because completing it has reminded me of something important: I can finish what I start. It may take longer than I first imagined. I may lose interest, set it aside, and need to find my way back to it. But I can return, keep going, and reach the end.

Sometimes that is enough.