Is knitting still cool? Was it ever cool? Is “cool” still the right word to use for things that are, in other words, rad as heck? Huh. It’s… probably not a good sign if I’m diving into tangents in the opening line of my newsletter, is it?
Anyway, I’ve been knitting. I’m making a very cozy little throw blanket that I can use to warm my legs while I read, partly because I’ve been elderly since I was a child, and partly because my therapist advised me to take up a hobby or two that are just that — hobbies.
Yes, hobbies. Not money-makers. Not performances. Not projects that can be turned into lead magnets for my email list. But activities that I do simply for fun. Things that I don’t even necessarily do well. This entire concept is deeply uncomfortable for me. And maybe it is for you, too.
Somewhere along my entrepreneurial journey, I picked up the idea that time not spent working was time wasted, a.k.a. money left on the table. “If you’re already doing [insert activity here],” the rhetoric goes, “you might as well monetize or market it!” And at the time, it made sense.
So my Instagram and Facebook accounts turned into personal branding accounts, where my life activities turned into promotional materials. My private journaling and for-fun creative writing projects turned into newsletters and blog posts and podcast episodes. I stopped watching my X-Files and Adventure Time DVDs because doing so “wasn’t productive,” and worked on my Podcast Now course instead. Walks in nature became calorie-burning investments in weight loss. I read books and listened to podcasts to learn — to soak up new information, analyze sentence and plot structure, etc. — instead of to relax and simply enjoy the material.
I know it sounds sick and ludicrous now, but at that time, In my mind, I had to justify everything I was doing, double-dip and find a way to make my leisure activities productive. Because only someone who’s really, really stupid (or worse, lazy) leaves money on the table.
I realize now that money isn’t everything (or even anything, but that’s another conversation for another day), and that as human beings, our worth is not dictated by our productivity. (What does dictate our worth? I’m still figuring that out.) But even that realization hasn’t helped me fully recover from that toxic mindset, that insidious taste of hustle culture.
As I knit this blanket — very clumsily and inexpertly, I must add — all I can think of is whether my time would be better spent doing something else. Something that could, y’know, double dip, and bring me some kind of profit in the process, a return on my investment.
“Might as well,” right?
It is so ludicrously hard to just sit here and knit this blanket, when I could be livestreaming or learning or somehow building my audience. Fun and enjoyment and solace aren’t worth anything tangible (are they?) any more than a human body at rest isn’t worth anything in our economy.
It doesn’t help that some sardonic sliver of my mind is pressuring me with every stitch — “Is this enjoyable? Are you having fun yet? Is this one of those memories that will ‘last a lifetime’, or whatever? Wouldn’t you rather know that you’re getting value out of this time, prove it with money or others’ validation?”
I’m not even sure what it means to enjoy an activity purely for its own sake anymore. What it means to create something in private, for myself, and not present it for a grade or applause or a paycheck.
I am willing to admit at this point that maybe I’m overthinking it.
It can be difficult to suddenly replace, rewrite, or rebuild neural pathways to stories we’ve been telling ourselves for years. But I really want to begin. And hopefully, I’ll be able to enjoy the cozy warmth of this imperfect blanket in the meantime.
Words & warmth,
Sarah