Three Salient Discoveries from "Hobbying"
Plus, a gallery of my not-perfect sketches
I was sitting at dinner with a close friend, talking about her latest artwork. I consider this friend an Artist in the capital “A” sense. Everything she touches—from her garden to her interior decor to the literal canvas—becomes a true work of art. She was explaining how she never thought she could draw human faces very well, but in her latest endeavor (she was painting an icon of St. John), she’d discovered she actually had the necessary skills (translation: the icon is stunning). More importantly, she was just enjoying the process of drawing and painting and flexing skills she’d developed in undergraduate.
The conversation got me thinking: From around the ages of seven to twelve, I took art classes almost every week. Throughout junior high, I had a sketchbook I filled with random drawings the way I filled notebooks with random story ideas. But somewhere in high school, I stopped drawing. I was frustrated that my drawings weren’t perfect, that I could never quite capture the realism of a photo: I doodled every now and then, but ultimately put away my drawing pencils because I didn’t think I was good enough to be a “real” artist in that medium.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with taking a break or deciding to quit something because you don’t feel called to it. But I’ve since realized that behind my decision to give up drawing lurked a dangerous perfectionism that not only demanded that everything I do be “perfect” (according to some exterior standard I had set for myself) but also that everything I do be productive. I didn’t see my drawing as a means by which I could succeed in the world (it wasn’t going on any college applications, and it wasn’t as if I could major in it). So, I let it go.
Approximately fifteen years, two degrees, several novels, a marriage and almost three children1 later, I found myself feeling burned out. I love writing. I love my family. I’m proud of the work I’ve put into my career and into my home. But always striving for productivity can become exhausting. I realized I needed a fun, no-pressure hobby. Something I could do for me.
My conversation with my friend made me realize: I know how to draw. More importantly, I like drawing, or at least I did all those years ago. What if I let myself draw just for the sake of drawing, just for the fun of it?
I went to Michael’s and bought a little sketch book and a small packet of drawing pencils. Nothing fancy, but something I could reserve solely for my new endeavor. Plus, it was a great excuse to walk around the craft store for awhile.
Then, one evening, I took out my new supplies and set to work sketching a little owl. I was amazed at the muscle memory of it: I could recall how to shade and blend almost without thinking about it.
What was more, I heard my old art teacher’s words in my head, encouraging me to push the shading a little more, reminding me of the way light works on eyes, urging me to let go of some of my perfectionism to let my own style shine through. I loved that art teacher, and until that moment I’d hardly realized the ways she’d shaped my process in mediums beyond the sketchbook. It was a little like going back in time to a place—her wonderfully messy art studio—and time—the simpler days of childhood—that held a special place in my heart.
Since diving into this new hobby, I’ve discovered a few more things about myself and about hobbies in general. Here are three takeaways from my new hobbying adventure.
I Really Needed to Play
My therapist once told me that every person needs some form of play: an outlet for the mind and body that is pleasurable but not productive in our modern, capitalist sense. She gave the example of video games, in which the player has to accomplish some goal but the stakes are ultimately trivial; it’s more about enjoying the process than achieving an end product. There can be and often is a product, but the point is not what you do with it.
In drawing, I’m learning to let myself create freely. When the drawing isn’t “perfect” I let myself move on from it unless I really feel the urge to keep at it. And while I do like showing the drawings to my friends and kids, I’m not really aiming to “do” anything with the drawings at the moment. It’s my form of play.
I’ve noticed that when I spend time in this carefree activity, I feel less anxious. I’m more at ease with myself and around my family. Almost as if all work and no play makes Alexa a little ball of stress.
Yes, I Actually Do Have the Time
Raising two kids, managing a household, being pregnant, writing and publishing, being a human adult with relationships. These were often my excuses for not taking up a hobby before, even though I knew I needed it. I did do things for fun—baking, reading, deep-cleaning my washing machine—but I knew these things were not exactly “play” in the sense my therapist had urged me to try. Often, at the end of a long day, I just let myself scroll YouTube videos or Reels because it was mindless and relaxing.
Then I listened to a Huberman Lab podcast about how our brains chemically experience pleasure and motivation. I’m not science-y enough to explain all of it, but I realized that, in my burned-out state, I was seeking dopamine rushes from things like social media and screens. While not bad means of pleasure, they don’t actually provide long-lasting relaxation or motivation. When I decided to put away my phone some evenings and focus instead on drawing, I found it much more relaxing and energizing.
What was more, I realized I did in fact have the time. Instead of allowing screens to be my reward for a long, stressful day, I sometimes choose pencil and paper as my means for recharging.
I’ve also found time through a weekly craft girls night, in which a group of friends gathers to chat while we draw or crochet or embroider. I’ve drawn while my kids play at the park and even, once, while my toddler cuddled with me. It’s been a special gift to show my children my drawings and see their delighted faces when I complete the requested fox or dinosaur.
When our new baby comes, I know priorities will shift. I don’t expect to have many evenings with free hands. But that’s the beauty of a hobby like drawing: there’s no urgency to it. On the days I do have a moment to spare, it will be nice to know I have something fun to fall back on.
I Like Who I Am When I’m Just Being Me
There’s something about drawing—the silence of it, the focus, the practice in looking closely—that also lets you look more closely at yourself. While I’m studying the shape of a nose or the way the light falls on a patch of fur, I have to be fully present in a way many endeavors don’t require. It’s similar to the focus and insight that writing requires, but because I’m only drawing for me, it has created more moments of just being with myself.
I’m not necessarily reflecting deeply on who I am; I’m just being present. I’m connecting with the child in me who loved to draw. I’m using my hands and my senses to feel my way to something that brings me joy.
It is easy, in the midst of motherhood, amid the ups and downs of a writing career, in the struggles of daily life, to forget that I too am someone who deserves my own attention, my own time, my own care. It’s easy to forget that I am someone I like.
This hobby has been a good reminder.
If you’re like me and sometimes need the encouragement to do things just because you enjoy them, I hope you take this post as your sign to take up that hobby that brings you joy.
I am eight months pregnant as I write this