I recently discussed on my talk show that I’ve never had a hobby. It’s not that I don’t have interests/passions, but I’ve never had an activity that I did regularly that made me feel relaxed/inspired/creative. Others always had hobbies, and would anticipate and relish the time spent on them. Cooking, gardening, crafts, learning languages, volunteering…so many options. None of which resonated or “spoke” to me.
Many years ago, I had begun a quest to find a hobby. Friends would suggest possibilities…the list seemed endless. Still…nah, wasn’t feeling any of them. Then, one day, while visiting my Mom, I mentioned my quest, and that I just wasn’t excited about anything to the point of declaring it a hobby. My Mom, in her sweet, loving tone, said, “Oh, Mary…I just don’t think you are a hobby kind of person.”
With that, I took a deep breath, and for the first time in years, felt relaxed on the subject. While I didn’t, and still don’t, know exactly what she meant by it, it gave me permission to halt my constant search, and….just be me. I will forever be indebted to her for that comment.
Now, many years later, I have discovered a hobby. Something that I look forward to doing, and that I wish I had more time for. Writing our novel. Me? A hobby? Wow…it still hasn’t sunk in. This is a first.
Photo: Erica Minton on Flickr.