You Don’t Have to Be Good at Your Hobbies
You don’t have to be good at your hobbies.
I’ve been thinking about this lately because I’m noticing how much pressure we seem to put on ourselves to be good at everything we do. Even the things we’re supposed to be doing for fun.
Capitalism—and social media, obviously—have convinced us that everything needs to be productive, impressive, or at least worth sharing. We’re encouraged to monetize our hobbies, turn our interests into side hustles, track our progress, get better, and show everyone what we’re doing.
Even our leisure has become something we can optimize.
But sometimes I just want to make a really terrible felted bird.
You are allowed to be bad at things.
I do the NYT crossword puzzle every night and use Auto Check.
That’s not cheating.
You 👏 can’t 👏 cheat 👏 at 👏 a 👏 hobby.
I can be a beginner. I can be mediocre. I can make terrible art. I can fill SHELVES of notebooks with writing that I’ll never publish. I can make something that nobody else ever needs to see.
And I can keep doing it because I like doing it.
That’s literally what a hobby is. Merriam-Webster defines it as “a pursuit outside one’s regular occupation engaged in especially for relaxation.”
For relaxation.
Not productivity. Not personal branding. Not content. Not a side hustle.
Just… because you enjoy it.
You don’t have to read impressive books.
I’m currently reading a series of extremely cheesy murder mysteries because my brain cannot handle anything heavy right now. They are exactly what I need. They’re entertaining and predictable and I can pick one up at the end of the day without asking my brain to do any additional emotional labour.
And I am not going to apologize for that.
I don’t think we need to turn reading into an act of display.
You don’t have to read a book because you want to post about it. You don’t have to read the book everyone else is reading. You don’t have to choose the book that makes you look smart or interesting or literary.
Read the book you actually want to read.
Maybe it is a beautiful piece of literary fiction. Maybe it’s a trashy romance. Maybe it’s a murder mystery involving a suspicious neighbour and a small-town bakery. Maybe it’s the same book you’ve read twelve times before.
Who cares?
You’re reading because you like reading.
That’s enough.
My hobbies don’t go anywhere.
I’m getting better at the NYT crossword because I’m letting myself get things wrong and learn from them.
I love learning.
THAT’S my hobby.
And I love making things, too. Not because I want to market them or sell them, but because I love how I feel when I’m making something.
My felted piping plover is here to relax and have a good time.
Just like me.
Maybe we need more things in our lives that don’t have to go anywhere. Things we don’t have to get good at. Things we don’t have to share. Things that don’t need to become a product or a skill or a credential or a post.
Things we can simply enjoy.
Hobby it up.
So this week, I have a little challenge for you:
Hobby it up.
Do something you enjoy and give yourself permission to be bad at it.
Write something that will never be published. Draw something terrible. Make something with your hands. Do a crossword and use Auto Check. Read the cheesy book. Try something you've always wanted to try without worrying about whether you're going to be good at it.
And if you need a little nudge, here's a prompt:
What would I do if I knew I didn't have to be good at it?
Write for ten minutes. Or draw it. Or make something. Or just make a list.
There are no outcomes required.
No one needs to see it.
You don't have to do because you want to get better at it. You just have to enjoy yourself. That’s it.
Hobby it up, my friends! Let’s chill out.
Erica
Hi, I’m Erica.
I’m an author, writing coach, and founder of Open Sky Stories. I write children’s books that help kids explore feelings and relationships, including Pixie and the Bees and Pixie and the Fox, and I’m currently working on a creative nonfiction manuscript called Yelling at Dead People. I also lead workshops and offer mentorshipsto help writers find safety, clarity, and confidence on the page. I live with my muse—an 18-year-old cat, Lucy who insists on supervising every word I write. Make sure to sign up for my weekly-ish newsletter where I share my insecurities, wins, and prompts and exercises that actually help you get words on the page without waiting for divine inspiration or perfect mental health.
