Hobbies, Habits, Hinting

Hi friends!

I’m taking a break from some freelance work to write, because somehow paid writing and unpaid writing still feel different in my head. I’m body-tired from ballet last night, and wanted to reflect some on getting back into the habit. (I just misspelled habit as “habbit,” so we’re off to a grand start.)

For the past month since [redacted], I’ve thrown myself back into hobbies. First, it was a way to come down from the adrenaline of the last year, etc,. Physically tiring myself out is sometimes most helpful in soothing my restlessness—and getting better sleep.

Plus, it's hard to shift out of "hard work" mode into something more restful; I find I actually do better if I just switch subjects or activities rather than coming to a complete stop. I can relax, sure, (define?), but I thrive on being in motion, even if it's slow. Enter: the Renaissance era. Active recovery, one might say. (I'm absolutely the same way physically; it's better for me to walk or swim than to take a full day off, but I inevitably end up doing so at points because of getting absorbed into my work.)

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A friend of mine reposted a graphic the other day that resonated with me. The gist: some people have no problem acknowledging losses, but don't celebrate wins. If you expect them of yourself (in terms of individual standards, not in outcome), they’re inevitable, or like something you should have done anyway. Accomplishment? Great. Now keep going. And sure, you can go the whole "The silence that accepts merit as the most natural thing in the world is the highest applause" but there's definitely a balance here too to keep it from being as uneven as it’s been. Another good reminder I like: if your self-awareness only includes what you could be doing better, then it’s not self-awareness at all. I adore who I am, but am always focused on improvement too, so I could be better about acknowledging myself in ways that have nothing to do with what I do, achieve, produce.

On the day [redacted] wrapped up, I got groceries and went to the gym. My reward hasn't been one singular moment like I expected, but rather taking the time to cook and dance and go to drawing sessions and read and whatnot. (I also said my reward for doing something hard was catching up on all the sacrifices I made to do it in the first place: DMV, bookkeeping, more work contracts, long-lagging tasks, etc,. so it’s not like I suddenly have more time. All of the previously “not urgent” adulthood tasks became urgent because they were on the backburner for months.)

But the hobbies, I love. If it seems like I'm being repetitive mulling over those small bits of joy, it's because I really didn't experience any of this as fully while in tunnel vision. Never this devotedly. So that's been my reward, basically: tapping into another side of myself. Those do come in seasons.

I've missed Renaissance mode—

I generally love the pursuit of any sort of art or creativity. Music, studio art, dancing, calligraphy, etc,. Anything you can teach yourself. I tend to get frustrated by things like singing that you kind of either have or you don't (sure, you can hone—but y’all don’t want to hear me sing. Trust me.) Some formats are easier for me to lean into than others. Calligraphy, for example, was a natural extension of my writing and handwriting.

This week, for example, I found myself in a figure art session again: a new one in town I hadn't gone to before. A live model, plastic cups of Kirkland wine, a group of island residents I'd never met before. A sketchbook panic-bought at a nearby drugstore because I realized my previous one was full.

2 min sketch

I've never loved charcoal, but it's the best for getting highlights and shapes and corrections. Realistically, I've always preferred ink and micron pens, but there's also something enormously frustrating about being less capable in my lines now. I did bring my watercolors, but wasn't quite brave enough to take a stab at anything in color. Still, I committed to it and was deeply happy within the process and absorption.

I've been thinking a lot about the H&N system (the endocannaboids to your dopamine) and what shifts us into actual satisfaction, and pretty much all the research points to an appreciation of all the aspects that creative pursuits like drawing entail. (Actually, The Molecule of More points out that creative projects are actually ideal for bridging the two systems, because creativity satisfies both your "here and now" desires and your anticipation for the future. So being creative is one of the "stickiest" things you can do to stay rooted in the "right things.")

art

For that and other reasons, it's good for you to do something with your hands and seek flow states in which you basically lose your awareness of time entirely. See: my cynicism about the scroll-based ecosystem.

I mentioned my craving for more embodied experience to balance out being so in my head last year. Right now, I'm so much lighter, but also way more grounded than I've been in months. Maybe years. I think I would have felt more even naturally anyway once [redacted] wrapped up, but I now have the added bonus of some more energy to pursue the activities most "like me" that keep me from feeling too flattened or one-dimensional. Just a little more awake to it. Perks of being done with the sheer terror of something that confirms or denies who you think you are.

In some ways, I feel like an entirely different person than I was at the tail end of revisions or my [redacted] experience. A lot of the noise in my brain is gone.

Again, there will always be stressors and things to mull over, but nothing that's...a life dream to that extent I've had since I was roughly six, I guess? Nothing else comes to mind as quite as interwoven into my sense of self. The [redacted] was always trickier to extricate myself from than anything else. When you've spent years at "almost," it's a weird—oddly casual shift—to have anything become real, and I’m still mulling over what, if anything, that means.

"Novelty in nuance"

On the neuroscience level, I thought about how all these different books I love basically argue that the real shift into happiness is supposed to come when you shift from chasing novelty for novelty's sake into chasing novelty within nuance. I've loved that phrase ever since I heard it: novelty in nuance. Slowness. Detail. Observation. Curiosity. It all goes together. I knew all these things always made me feel better without knowing why, and plenty of people also don't need to know the why in order to enjoy those processes. I just love that I can articulate them now too.

I feel that shift whenever I'm in an art class, session, experience, whatever—trying a skill and being, easily, one of the worst in the room but being a little in awe over everyone's talent, the overall atmosphere, whatever it might be.

People are so cool, incremental improvement feels so good, and I am constantly critiquing my sketches or how my drawing's fallen off or whatever it might be—but it lights such a good, subtle hunger within me to keep getting better at something for the sake of it. Or at least to sink into the motion of trying.

Not being as good as you used to be

During the session, I also reflected on how much worse it feels to come back to something you used to be better at and not being as good. Too much time has elapsed. It's lack of practice. Use it or lose it. All of that.

In the past few years, I've occasionally found myself reluctant to do something I really love simply because I'm no longer as talented at it, and part of the appeal at one point was how capable I once felt in an activity, or reaching a specific threshold of accomplishment. I think it's harder to lose that and to come back to something then to have never noticed any original improvement at all.

So I've been making more of an effort to double back rather than indulging urge to start "fresh" on a pursuit just so I don't have to feel the bruised ego of a backslide. You know? In a flipped way, making that choice to return to a new “old” activity feels good overall because I know I'm swallowing some pride to show up. (The figure drawing class was a very nonjudgmental space, but I mean individually. I hold myself to impossible standards.)

I will say—this was my first experience sketching a model with a prosthetic leg, which was also a cool experience. The weight shifts, and I had such a clear moment of appreciating how that was something I became attuned to. When you're drawing, you literally see differently, and that's such a testament to how quickly or easily we can tap into perspectives we thought we'd lost. (It's also been so helpful for me to be aware of in my own creativity, writing process, etc,. because it helps me shake things up when my view starts feeling too stale.) Blur your eyes to see the longest line to start. Here’s how to measure.

I guess it just feels so lovely to recognize the residue from my studio art days! We’re constantly priming ourselves to think in different ways, and there’s such a beauty in how easily I can recalibrate even just my awareness of something as small as the way a line darkens or carries more intention at someone's knee.

In my figure drawing classes previously, we've always had a harder time recruiting male models, so it's also satisfying to sketch a different form. Girl friends would tell you that "my type" physically tends to be muscular (hahhaa), and it's probably partly due to how much I just find, like, someone's back to be so strangely beautiful. Mulling over this, I thought about reading On Muscle by Bonnie Tsui recently, and how much overlap I've had between drawing and dancing over time. For example, ballet is all about lines and restraint and elegant shapes.

Speaking of.

I've been proud of the dancing again.

In the spring, I finally got back into ballet, like I'd been talking about for forever.

I started my weekly class, and immediately sank into the routine. Sure, my muscles don't move the way they used to (see the frustration of being worse, above.) I at the very least used to be able to salvage my lack of choreography memory as a kid by being apologetically stretchy. I'm thisclose to getting my splits back, but I never had to even make any effort with them before.

As an adult, it's much easier to find drop-in classes in genres like jazz funk, heels/femme (think: sexy dancing), or hip hop. I'll definitely talk more about what all that entails on another little "scrap," but I'm yawning so much right now and this is a freewrite. Sort of following my meandering novelty in nuance thread again, I love how when I'm over in the dance studio, the hour or so expands. I'm so entirely focused on an individual burn in my heels or, today, a line in my back I probably couldn't identify even if I tried. You activate such weird little muscles in the attempt to make your muscles fluid and graceful, so I’m sore in a different way than the gym would evoke.

Anyway, I'm now a 27-year-old taking ballet classes with a bunch of teenagers, and I love everything about that: I walked in yesterday and a kid with braces was making a joke with an "updog" punchline. I easily tower over everyone there—boys included. I'm sure one of them will skyrocket past me in the coming months. At least I probably see the choreography over their heads, even from the back.

It only took one ballet session or two to remind me that I'm so a ballet body versus other genres. All lines and stretch and a certain balance of grace. Again, I'm not as good as I used to be—and it's not like I was ever that good—and it's bittersweet to know that there are maneuvers or movements I can literally never get back again because of how my body's changed over the last decade. Some joints just can't really become that pliable again.

But still, it was a relief to not be (visibly, immediately) the worst in the class in one genre at least, to feel certain movements that I actually was good at, and to appreciate the texture of each individual part of the barre sequence. My body does remember a whole lot of it, and in many ways, feels like I never stopped taking ballet at all.

Those nights are the highlight of my week. And I'm getting braver in other styles, so might add in some other nights too. And I've been playing around in genre: line dancing, jazz, femme, contemporary, hip hop. Slowly boosting up my repertoire again depending on availability, as most classes are pop-up or with guest instructors since I'm not in a company. But I feel the difference already in my brain gripping the choreography again and starting to clean it. (Versus, after coming back from years of not being able to be consistent, I definitely spend most of any hip hop class looking partly like I'm being electrocuted. Cutting down the proportion of that though!)

I was passable, though, and I would like to be passable again, because dancing is probably the purest hobby I have. Untouched by money, pressure, or—God forbid—actual skill, I just absolutely love everything about a dance studio.

Even waiting on the floor between classes flashed me back.

There is a point when I feel the nuance start to kick in again: the gaps, changing levels, aiming for "in the pocket," sharpening beats. I’m too loose because I don’t fully commit to the choreography, largely because I have to speed up my memory and go full-out more when originally learning it. Okay, my footwork could be a lot faster or lighter. What am I doing with my hands? Those types of questions that start to make a difference. Whereas, up until now, I've felt like every time I've been in a dance class, I've been operating in sheer panic mode essentially trying to hold onto enough to keep up—not to optimize. My full-out is practically a mark.

• I also can't remember choreography whatsoever anymore,
• all the teenagers are part of the competition team, and they're all incredibly good,
• When I try to do hip hop, it is significantly obvious that my body is wired for ballet instead (see: noodle status),
• etc,. etc,.

All concerns of mine.

And normally, I would never post a video where I looked anything less than flawless tackling the choreography. I would crop and shrink it to a few seconds' duration and grab whatever clean section I could, kind of as proof that I do dance regardless of how minimally others see it.

But I've been trying to break down my pride lately and so I did post afterwards—the video where I do, frankly, look noodle-ish. The difference between wanting to seem polished at all times and being self-conscious to others’ reactions is probably thinner than I intend for it to be as someone who generally prides myself on not caring much what people think, but I've actually loved when friends or people I follow online post clips of them trying (and maybe failing) in a dance class. There's something so enormously refreshing about seeing people just trying new hobbies, so it's silly of me to hold myself to a different standard that I should be somehow more capable within one when I’m not as active or consistent or committed as those “experts” I admire.

I had the best damn time in that class, honestly. The combo was the most fun I'd done in years (thank you for doing Y2K T-Pain), everyone was so kind and talented, the energy was fantastic, I burned more actively than I have in total on any single other workout I've done in the last two months. All in all, it's the type of class I'll be marking or dancing to for literal years in my head or if the song ever comes on over a dance floor. I’ll probably teach it to myself again more slowly and try to really nail it so I can prove to myself I can.

The entire class was addictive, and reminded me how much I love this in the first place, even while I was fighting for my life to keep up with the kids. I need to start going—and staying for the harder or more intimidating class the “good” dancers are going to—more often. I almost went again tonight.

And then afterwards: trivia, new friends, night drive, potluck plans. A weekly rhythm that's started to become really satisfying. Reviewing another book about people who are obsessed with what they do. Snagging groceries to bake my (requested) brownies for someone moving away.

I can't stop marveling over how much more even everything feels overall, even when challenged or dealing with various headaches. Maybe any neuroticism that bubbled up last year really was all the stress of [redacted.] I hope, emotionally, to be deep but not volatile, and I actually do think I'm pretty chill despite what the intensity of my pursuits would have you believe. But I was so keyed-up most of the time about [redacted] that I worried it was starting to shift my personality. It’s a relief to realize it didn’t. That wasn’t a new normal. That can come in doses, which means I can anticipate and regulate it and not just think I’m automatically firing on all cylinders intensity-wise all the time.

In any case, almost everything is calmer than in 2024, although I loved plenty of last year for its own reasons. This year is all quieter, but in an calming way—not a stagnant one. All just steady.

Of course, I still have plenty to figure out or to mull over or small aches I can't change. That’s just humanity. But I just can't express enough how nice it feels to get to do more of what I love and start to lean into more variety even while—yes—writing a ton? Being slightly more intentional rather than just running in straight-up survival mode.

And maybe I could have done a better job of balancing it all during [redacted] but at least I'll know for future cycles—but it'll never be that hard again. Because it was an almost for so long and now it's not. Now it's just a fact, and I'm different by virtue of being on the other side forever. Which means I have much more room to zoom out or rather—to zoom in on these small, significant pursuits that make everything else melt away if only for a few hours.

Filling my time

Of course, I'm sure there's some temptation latent in all that to stay productive or be well-rounded or cool or whatever it is that actually is reactionary to other scenarios. But. I do love that I can constantly entertain myself, find a way to fill my time, and never lose sight of how many granular pursuits there are that move me. It’s so lovely to care about anything.

Tonight, I haven't decided if I'm swimming laps or taking a rest day and catching up on some calligraphy. Maybe some guitar?

I ended up recording a voice note on how to write a book, because I am relentless.

I have many, many more thoughts on stitching together creativity, what the arts do for us, even notes from dance or art or whatever it might be that I'd planned, initially, to share in this post while analyzing my attempts in domains I used to at least be passable in—but the bedsheets are calling and I must go. Thanks for reading to my musing.

Wow, I really am tired. Thanks for reading my musing.

some sappy calligraphy for you

Various Related Books I Will Link Later

Flow by Mihály Csíkszentmihályi

The Real Work by Adam Gopnik

Turning Pointe by Chloe Angyal

Slowness by Milan Kundera

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

The Molecule of More by Daniel Lieberman and Mike Long

Grit by Angela Duckworth

Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkemann

Deep Work by Cal Newport

The Extinction of Experience by Christine Rosen

The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt

Silence: In an Age of Noise by Erling Kagge

How to Disappear by Akiko Busch

Superbloom by Nicholas Carr

I'll Give You the Sun by Jandy Nelson

Novelist as Vocation by Haruki Murakami

On Muscle by Bonnie Tsui