I always find it a little sad when people talk about things they enjoy like they’ve disappeared. “I used to go to shows.” “I used to read all the time.” “I used to draw.” I get it; life changes, people change, priorities change. But those people usually sound sad when they talk about it, too. Like, the love and passion are still there, clearly.
I don’t think adults have to stop doing things they find fun because they’re adults. I know that sounds super millennial/Gen Z of me, but it’s a hill I’m willing to die on. Not everyone’s adult life has to literally revolve around work — at least not their entire adult life. I can speak on this with some experience, because it almost happened to me.
Between the ages of 18 and 23, I was miserable without realizing it. I thought the right thing to do was to focus all my energy on my grades, because that was all I knew how to do, really. I spent the vast majority of my free time writing papers, reading academic text, and making discussion board posts. Spontaneous plans were not a part of my vocabulary. I graduated with a 3.9 GPA, but was it worth it? The anxiety, emptiness, and aimlessness I felt in 2018 tells me no.
I forgot who I was when I wasn’t doing something important. When I wasn’t trying as hard as humanly possible to prove myself. My identity was my major and my future job. I think my friendships suffered, and I didn’t really overcome my social anxiety. I didn’t read a book just to enjoy a book for over five years. I gradually stopped writing for my eyes only for months at a time. I felt guilty watching Netflix or leaving the house when I could be getting work done. I’m trying to turn it around now, but I feel bad for my younger self.
The pandemic and lockdown really forced me to slow down, to reconsider my work ethic. I realized that grinding and constantly pushing myself didn’t actually make me happy. Being stressed and scared doesn’t exactly lend itself to doing well at anything. It doesn’t make you a smarter or better person. Not being able to rest could snowball into a disaster. I was doing my master’s degree, but I made a promise to myself that I’d give myself room to breathe. It’s a promise I’ve kept even now that I’m working full time. It’s made the last few years a lot calmer and less claustrophobic. People who focus all their energy on one thing are honestly boring, and I know I’m not when my head is on straight.
I’m reading and writing again, and I’ve picked up other hobbies that I don’t think I would’ve let myself try before. I know the kind of life I want to have when I’m on my own, and it includes a lot of things that have nothing to do with my job. I don’t think I’d survive (or, you know, be anything other than miserable) if I didn’t have other things to hang onto or look forward to, or ways to relax and decompress. I feel lighter, and just generally better about myself.
I think we (the collective we) are a lot unhappier when we don’t shift some of our energy to things that have no purpose other than being enjoyable. Like, we should all be able to make more time for the stuff we love. Society(tm) should give us the space for that without any of the shame that usually comes along with it. Hell, if you read this post, make time to do something you haven’t done in a while that you think is fun. I have to question if not having anything that brings you happiness is even a life at all.
(Maybe that last bit is for my journal, whoops.)