We met with a financial advisor a little more than a week ago. Aside from the normal questions about what we wanted our lifestyle to look like when we retire and our business goals for the next 3 to 20 years, there was one question that I haven’t been able to shake from my mind?
What are your hobbies?
Will was able to list a slew of things – and I even chimed in. “Don’t forget fantasy sports,” I said. “Or golf – you’re a casual golfer.”
When it came to my turn the pen remained still in our financial advisor’s hand and the room was silent.
“Hobbies?”
“Yeah, what are your hobbies?” Will said, as if that was his contribution to my end of the conversation as I had offered up a few ideas for his.
I used to have hobbies. We spat a few of those out. I used to cook (I mean, I have this nearly dead food blog, duh). And that was kind of it. The few hobbies we mentioned were things Will and I do together – going out to eat, weekends in Atlantic City, the occasional vacation that maybe we’ll want to take in the future when life isn’t insane.
And then we left. And I have not been able to stop thinking – My God, why don’t I have hobbies?
It seems like this self-identifying part of myself has been lost. I can think of all the hobbies I used to have – and I even listed them in the car (a few times) as I’ve pondered this question with Will over and over again (he doesn’t seem as shocked by the idea that I don’t have hobbies but it’s this itch in my soul that won’t go away until I can scratch it by saying – Ah ha! Here’s a hobby! Problem solved! You are an interesting, complex person.).
I used to play guitar (we’re talking high school). I used to go swing dancing (that was college). I used to dabble in watercolors (also college). There were weekends spent hiking. A late summer evening on the tennis court. A half hour here or there of exercise. An evening going to a bar, coffee shop or other venue to watch live music. I loved listening to tunes!
I don’t do any of these things anymore. I keep telling myself it’s because I’m so busy. I grew up. I got a job. I got married. I’m pregnant.
And then my sister, when I saw her this past weekend, put the nail in the coffin when I told her my dilemma and she said, “Yeah, you know Mom has the exact same answer when people ask her about her hobbies. She doesn’t have any.”
That did it. As any child knows, the reference that you’re just like the parent of the same gender sends you rushing into a panic: Oh God, I’m turning into my mother. (P.S. I love you Mom and if you’re reading this I have just one thing to say – why don’t WE have any hobbies?!)
I got this idea that if I could pick up one hobby I used to have – something I wish I still did – it would be the watercolors. I’m not particularly good at it. I won’t sell it or probably ever show it off. I never took a class. But I taught myself how to mix the paint with the water to get the pigment just right. I taped the paper down on my desk so I could keep it from curling with each addition of water to the page.
It was my thing. Something to do in the quiet moments that was just for me. And it felt good.
I did what any rational person would do and I hopped on Amazon.com that very day to fill the cart with the basics – paint, brushes and paper. But I never hit “check out.” I sat there. I was still. I felt the baby inside me kick and squirm and practice for the Olympic tryouts and I remembered how my son or daughter will be a bigger part of my world in about a month. I remembered that if things weren’t crazy now – starting a business, preparing for the baby and planning for the future – that things were just going to get crazier in a short period of time.
Who has time for watercolors?
I still haven’t ordered the supplies. And I have this little bit of guilt in my chest because of it. I try to be realistic. I feel like I should order the watercolor supplies today in an act of triumph for defining myself. So I can call that financial advisor and say, “I have one. I have one hobby and I want you to put it on that list, right under my name.”
But I wait. After the baby is born, I say. After I get into a new routine with my new life and a new way of things. After I figure out how to do this whole mom thing. After the business gets less hectic and I’m not working 12 hours a day. After. Later. Push it off.
OK, writing it makes me see how silly that seems. I’m ordering the damn watercolor supplies. I think.
