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Nobody has ever asked me if I have hobbies. I assume that this is poor luck on my part, rather than any lack of interest on theirs. Either way, I have expended much mental energy on making the decision that if somebody were to ask me about my hobbies, I would tell them that I don’t have any.
My luxury, as a designer, is that my avocations intersect neatly with my working life. I play music, I paint, I collect nice clothing, and I own lots of mid-century furniture. These things inform my sense of creative style, and create an atmosphere that inspires me—something which I think is vital to my development as a creative individual.
I take the things I do outside of work seriously. I dedicate myself to them. I have pride in the outputs of my time and effort—be it artwork, music, or putting some water on a plant (read: gardening) and watching it blossom (read: wilt). To me, calling that output (whether successful or not), the product of a ‘hobby’ devalues it.
It isn’t the concept of a hobby that I find disagreeable, it’s the implication of the word. Calling my pursuits ‘hobbies’ minimises accountability, minimises the effect of failure, and maybe even minimises the personal value that I assign to those pursuits. A hobby is a mindset of which I want no part.
That is why I do not have hobbies. Instead, I have passions and interests, and things that I spend too much time and money on. And they’re all worth so much more to me than a hobby could be.