I Need a Hobby. (Help!) Not Just Any Hobby.

I was asked to sit in on a middle school Google Meet this past Friday. They were 7th graders who were practicing their interviewing skills and they wanted to ask me some questions.

As the class opened, they welcomed me with that perfect 7th-grade mix of polite and awkward, and then began working through a series of carefully worded questions. They wanted to know how I was doing, why I got into teaching, what did I like about it, and how quarantine has been. I answered each question quickly and easily while they adorably gave me feedback and support with “thumbs ups” and smiley faces in the chat.

They then began a second series of more “random” questions- ranging from asking about my favorite types of music to my passions and hobbies.

It was here that I started to stumble and it was that last question that really caused the wheels to fall off. And so I made jokes instead of providing thoughtful answers. Because the truth is, I’m not really sure what kind of music I’m into these days. I know what music I hate (I’m looking at you, JoJo with the Bow Bow) but I don’t know what I love.

And I know that I’d like to have a great hobby, but I realized in that moment that I literally have none. And that realization was only slightly better than the next immediate realization that I had. Not only do I not have hobbies, but I don’t even have a clue of what I would WANT to do if I did have a hobby. In fact, I have no idea, at this very moment, what would bring me joy and fulfillment and fun.

At what point did I stop paying attention to myself so completely that not only did I quit doing things that I enjoyed, but I no longer even know what those things would be?

And so, I’ve made a decision. I need a hobby.

I know I have habits that make me feel good. Do great habits make for great hobbies? I don’t know. I don’t think so. For example, it makes me feel good to water the plants. Is that a hobby? I know gardening is a hobby, but I don’t think that’s what I do.

I water plants. I read their tags and plant them where they’ll get the appropriate amount of sun and shade. And then, I sit back and marvel and rejoice in the way they grow and develop just the way they are meant to, simply because I love them and nurture them.

So predictable. So satisfying. Unlike my children, who receive proper love and nurturing and continue to grow and develop in ways that leave me confused and stumped and Googling in the middle of the night.

I guess I’m pretty good at baking cookies. They usually turn out even. And once I baked two loaves of bread two days in a row. But I’m not sure that counts as a “hobby” either.

So I’m left here sitting with the realization that I’m not sure I know myself anymore. I know who I am as a mom. I know who I am as a teacher. I know who I am as a friend and a sister and a wife. But when I’m alone, when it’s just me, I’m not really sure I know this person anymore.

I need to learn a new skill. Or, something. But first I need to do a little soul searching. I need to spend time thinking about me. Who am I now? And I don’t mean spend time by practicing self-care. A shower and shaved legs will not make me feel whole again. An hour in a park with a book will not make my life full. Of course we should take time for these things. But they are stress relievers, not joy-builders. What is it I want to DO.

And so, I need a hobby.

But that’s step two. Step one is figuring out what will make me feel truly happy. Because parenting and working and cleaning and driving and bill-paying have left me feeling functional but hollow.

I feel fine but not fulfilled. And when I have been given all the things I’ve always known I wanted, then it’s clear that the empty spot that I feel is within me. And there’s no time like the pandemic present to figure out what piece is missing.

It’s time to get to know myself again. What kind of music do I want to listen to? What direction do I want my career to go? What am I really afraid of? And when I do, who knows. Maybe I’ll take up cross-stitching.