Holly Hobby

When you have a job where you talk/think/write about malfunctioning triple X regions all day (hello, incontinence. Nice to see you again, prostate cancer. Make yourself comfortable, breast cancer), it is of paramount importance to have a hobby. The reason being, that when you are in social situations, particularly with people you’ve never met, you may find yourself going on for ten or more minutes about well…why people experience bladder weakness. And while I happen to love my job and think our clients and my work are incredibly interesting, I’ve come to realize that others may not feel similarly. In fact, “uncomfortable” may be a better word to describe a dinner date where I went on for nearly the whole dinner about the controversy over prostate cancer screening and why he “really should get screened when he gets to be that age”.

That’s 100% true. If he still talked to me, he could vouch.

So, to get through those long dinners with friends and family and even longer dates with losers, it is pretty important to have something else to talk about. For most people, these other things are hobbies. Ah yes, hobbies. My friend, the knitter, who made me a scarf for Christmas one year and goes to craft shows to find interesting thread. My other friend the soccer player, who still plays fiercely and competitively on various intramural teams. The hunter who took me on a date to Lindys. The artist. The philanthropist. The musician. The culinary expert. The horseback rider. The people who fill their lives and their conversations with passions and interests.

I’ve always had a problem with hobbies. I mean, not in theory. In theory, they sound great! Devoting yourself to something other than working, sitting in front of your T.V. and drinking (only on the weekends, of course). A chance to meet people with similar interests, depending on the hobby. Or create something beautiful. Or better yet- delicious. My problem is, nothing has ever really stuck.

The main problem is my lack of hand-eye coordination. As made evident if you’ve ever been around me for more than three seconds, I am kind of clumsy. I fall a lot, I often miss my mouth when trying to insert food and beverage, I clip my arm against the wall when walking through doors. This narrows down my options quite a bit- no sports really (aside from Yoga, which is fun, but expensive) and anything terribly artistic is pretty much out too. I don’t have the delicate and deliberate hands of an artist. Mine would better be described as the rough and heavy hands of…a bear cub (give me a break, I haven’t blogged in a while and it’s hard to think of metaphors sometimes).

It started when I was a kid and hasn’t really gotten much better since then. I wanted to be a girl scout- until they made me clean dishes on a camping trip. I wanted to play roller hockey- until I went to the first practice and I was the only girl. I wanted to play the clarinet- until after the band trip. I wanted to be a ballerina- until I got stage fright. I wanted to sing- until I realized I couldn’t. Just recently, I signed up to build houses with a Jewish youth group but didn’t go because I didn’t have the proper footwear. It’s become cyclical- anytime I want to try something new I say “oh wait…you already tried that and didn’t like it” and then turn on the Office.

For a while I got really into crafting. It started with those wooden things you buy at Michael’s craft store and paint to your liking. Then it advanced to making screen print t-shirts. And then, I started “sculpting” with clay that you could bake in your oven. I could only make bears and turtles, but god damn if I didn’t make a lot of them. But then one day, I just looked around and realized everything I made was completely ugly and I was a talentless loser. So I stopped crafting and it left a bitter taste in my mouth, mostly because it is one of the only things that Midwestern women wearing Kitten sweaters can do better than me.

All I know is, I like to read nonfiction fiction books. I like to bike. I like to write blogs that no one reads. I like to dance to music in my apartment in my underwear. I like to find the places with the best eggs Benedict in the city. Ilike to read the news and then talk about it with people who don’t really care. I like to watch entire seasons of a show I like in one sitting on a Sunday afternoon. And you know what, I’m okay with that.

But, in the interest of having something to write (and talk) about, I’ve decided to recommit myself to hobbies! What hobbies? I have NO idea. I’m thinking about photography again maybe, which I really enjoyed until I broke my camera. But maybe historical reenactment? Or beadwork? Yoga and Pilates? Arts and crafts? Cooking? Animal rescue? I am open to suggestions.

This is all a really long way of saying that, if you get a clay bear or turtle from me for the holidays, please don’t be surprised.