I have many hobbies; however, most of them are in the back of my closet, gathering dust. From my quarantine obsession with painting rocks, to my short-lived interest in making earrings, my hobbies, as a general rule, consume my life for a month or two, then fade into the recesses of my closet. 

One of the hobbies I collected was earring-making. My aunt, who liked to make jewelry, lent me some supplies.

Elated, I threw myself head-first into the world of jewelry making. Using pliers, I bent wires into shape and hung little pendants on wire loops. My collection of earrings grew from a few pairs of Claire’s studs, to a panoply of dangly earrings that sophomore me had no occasion to wear. 

I also started making earrings for friends and family, at first, just for birthdays. Then, as the holidays rolled around, I told myself that I was going to make a pair of earrings, or a necklace, for every single member of my family that I would normally give a Christmas card to. This, I thought, was a completely reasonable thing to do, and I was extremely excited to start on the twenty five different earrings and necklaces. 

However, about five earrings in, my optimism began to crack after cutting my finger for the third time on a sharp bit of wire. 

Instead of quitting and just making a nice card, I dogged along. Creating those 25 pairs of earrings and necklaces birthed a hatred for silver wire and needle-nosed pliers, which I still feel to this day. 

One of the more long-lived of my hobbies was clay sculpting. For Christmas one year, my mother got me a large tub of air-dry clay from Walmart. I had been begging for this since I had seen a girl on YouTube create an intricate sculpture of a running dog, with the same brand of clay.

The first thing I did when I opened the tub was attempt to sculpt that dog. As a beginner, I had absolutely no business trying this. Of course, I failed. 

The dog ended up looking more like a deranged three-legged hamster. I was horrified, not just because of the horrifying nature of the sculpture, but because I really expected it to be better, I really expected myself to be better. 

Dejected, I threw it in the trash, and after that failed attempt, I didn’t touch clay for a long time. 

However, a few months later, I was looking in my closet for something to do and saw the leftover clay. 

Shrugging, as I had given up on ever being good at sculpting, I grabbed some, and challenged myself to make the ugliest thing I possibly could. 

I spent a good two hours on a collection of zany little clay creatures. After they dried overnight, I painted them. One of my favorites, which I called “Breakfast” was a grotesque frog-like creature with large, unevenly shaped eyes, and a terrifying smile.  

I still sometimes make these little creatures, and have a few on a shelf in my closet. I found I enjoyed making these horrible little creatures so much more than attempting the intricacies of other artists’ sculptures.

I didn’t put as much pressure on myself to be good at what I was doing. I actually got to enjoy the activity without worrying about how I compared to some YouTube artist. I just had fun. 

Looking back at why I quit all my abandoned hobbies, most of the problems were not in the hobbies themselves. It was my obsession with being perfect, or the pressure I put on myself to include others that led me to push myself too far. I guess what I’m trying to say, to convince myself: is that these things aren’t super serious, and that it might be okay to be a horrible sculptor or a selfish jewelry maker. 

Maybe the enjoyment of just doing the activity, no matter the quality or quantity,  is enough.