Last year, in one of our sauna sessions, my roommate shared the observation that busy professionals like to characterise themselves by hobbies that have long escaped them. He used himself as an example: Jordan loves skiing, and took a gap year to focus on it before Queen’s. Since graduating, however, he hasn't found the time for it. Could he still identify as a skier, even though it was mostly a past-tense activity these days?
It was an interesting thought to shoot the bull about, but more than anything, it made me self-conscious of the fact that I didn't have any hobbies of my own to point to.
Back then, I was spending my free time balancing friends, family, and my girlfriend on a humming schedule. Meals shared, nights out, weekend trips to visit friends or family. I rarely left time for myself. It was a bacchanalian, go-with-the-flow dance which sometimes left me feeling like a spectator in my own life. On one of these weekend trips, Chris and I found ourselves in Paris. We reminisced about the halcyon days, and, over a few menthols, reflected on our new lives. What was the point of it?
Whenever plans were cancelled at the last minute or my flight was delayed, the unexpected alone time would typically trigger the anxiety of unsureness. Unsureness about what I was interested in, who I was becoming compared to who I wanted to be, or what the hell I was doing on Thursday night in Saskatoon. I want to believe that I crammed my schedule with social commitments because my relationships were important to me, but it didn't hurt that the company of others was a great distraction from the nausea of the big questions.
Enter 2020. Among countless other far more important challenges, this year has forced us to confront how we spend our time in the absence of endless social programming.
For me, the big questions are a source of anxiety, but I've warmed up to the value of spending time on myself again. In revisiting old hobbies and picking up new ones, I'm realising that reflection and metacognition (in other words, facing the nausea) occurs more naturally when I'm focused on a personal pursuit. Many of my ideas for Gaston Modot have come to me while playing the piano. I get inspired about who to shoot the next cold email to and how to tell my professional story when I'm exercising (Chris doesn’t think exercise counts as a hobby, but I’ll take what I can get). As much as they are pastimes, these pursuits have become avenues through which, someday, I might confront the big questions.
Once we're vaccinated and re-enter the world as we knew it, it will be tempting to revert to the old schedule. For the first while, it might even be what's best. But as we re-adjust to a world in which housewarmings and after-hours clubs are once again a natural part of life, I'm hoping that the experiences of 2020 will nudge me to continue to be intentional in setting aside time for myself.
Note 1: Jordan is soon heading out to BC for a few months to turn skiing into a present-tense hobby. A man of action.
Note 2: If you are a reader of these ramblings of mine, you’re almost certainly somebody who has had a positive impact on my life this year, and likely in prior years, too. So — thank you for being a part of my life. I appreciate you, and here’s to a better year ahead! 🚀❤️
Luv u