“What are your hobbies?” Perfectly reasonable question, you might think. Or, let’s soften it a bit: “What do you like to do in your spare time?” Now… ANSWER. Go on, answer. Maybe you’re in a job interview. Maybe you’re on a date. Maybe you’re having a really dire, brass tacks dinner conversation where there is no chemistry and you need it to be over. Like, now. Because you’re about to get rebel tourettes and start acting out and getting outrageous. You’re that bored and resentful.
I understand that I may be the odd one here. I do not have a hobby. I do not ski (I can’t stop and I hate it) or mountain climb or sky dive. I don’t pot or embroider or paint. I rarely go to galleries, loathe the theatre with all its middle-class, self-satisfied fire risk and I’m not attempting to learn a foreign language. I cook to feed people rather than to self-improve. I exercise to feel better and less mad rather than to see the world via white water rafting or hiking. I read books but I am not a member of a book club. I don’t play an instrument and I’d rather not even talk about DIY. Occasionally I ride a bike, but by no stretch of the imagination am I ‘into cycling’.
I like my friends. I like to chat. And think – when I have the energy. I like telly – but that doesn’t count does it? This lack of hobbies make me feel as though I’m letting myself down somehow. But life is a hobby. A full and satisfying life. Without knitting. Is that okay?