View From the Middle

I had nearly completed the alumni questionnaire when I came to a question containing a word I haven't thought of since high school. An ancient word. A word that calls back an amazing time when days lasted 24 hours and weeks lasted seven days ...

The question was: What are your hobbies?

I reread the sentence. Hobbies? I tried to think of something I do just for the sheer joy of doing it -- not because it's due ... not because it's past due ... not because it's way past due.

I tried to think of the last time I did anything that wasn't for survival, panic or money. I tried to think of anyone I know who has anything remotely close to a hobby. Between work, home and kids, what on earth would it be? Painting in her sleep? Practicing the violin in the minivan while waiting for her children to finish soccer practice?

The few people I do know who've actually scaled back and committed to pursuing the simple life have been swept into an irresistible marketing frenzy.

There's my friend Molly, who took time to stop and smell the roses ... and now has a gardening Web site and a collection of tools and gardening shoes that are imprinting her name in topsoil all across America.

My friend Maureen quit her job and devoted herself to staying home and doing projects with her small children. Within two months, she was the star of the "Maureen's Projects With Small Children" video series and had a line of "Maureen's Craft Project Kits" and a monthly "Fun With Maureen" magazine.

The last person I know who really had a hobby was my Grandma Chloe. You name it, she crocheted it. Blankets, scarves, booties, hot pads, tissue covers. Sometimes she gave them away. Sometimes she kept them. It never would have occurred to her to sell any of it. Could Grandma Chloe have resisted a Web site? Maybe. But could she have resisted the peer pressure of her marketing-savvy family and friends? I doubt it. It isn't just that our brains are so saturated with merchandising schemes; it's that everyone else's are too, making it virtually impossible to show anyone anything without them cheering you onto a People magazine spread. I can't even make a pot of chicken soup without feeling like an underachiever -- that I'm merely making soup in front of my two dogs and not the cast and crew of "Good Morning America." Ridiculous, I thought. The next time I get one of these questionnaires, I'm going to have a legitimate hobby. I will find a few minutes every week to pursue a passion and revel in the lost art of "goal-less achievement." I shut my eyes and immediately imagined the book, the talk show appearance and the video on how to rediscover hobbies. ... Rats. I still have a little work to do. (Write to Mickey Guisewite in care of this newspaper, or send e-mail to mguisewite@aol.com.) COPYRIGHT 2001 MICKEY GUISEWITE Check out ThirdAge's Discussions page here.
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Source: The Lighter Side

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