When Your Hobbies Start Feeling Like Homework

It’s unsettling when you find yourself needing convincing to do the things you love.

I’ve been trying to reconnect recently, with reading, with my journal, with long walks that go nowhere in particular and as hard as it is to admit this, most days, it feels like I’m almost forcing myself to do things that once came naturally to me. Like I have to talk myself into it. Like I am performing the version of myself who does these things rather than simply being her. For so long, my mind has been moving. Assignment to exam to deadline to responsibility, one thing dissolving into the next before I’ve had time to breathe. Now, it feels unnatural to have time to actually do the things I used to love. Things that used to be second nature now require conscious effort.

What’s even harder to admit is, in a way, I kind of like the busy seasons. It’s like my mind is on autopilot and the heavier questions - about who I’m becoming, and where my life is going - can wait. As much as I love summer because I get to relax and come back to the things that make me feel like myself at my core, I also feel a sense of responsibility. I start thinking that this is the time to cram in everything I wasn’t able to do during the school year, almost to the point that they start to feel like chores. Writing and reading and going on walks used to feel like therapy to me. They were cathartic. I would do them to get away from everyday life. Most importantly, I associated them with the person I believed myself to be. Someone who loves to learn, to ruminate. Someone who thinks and feels deeply and wrestles with difficult emotions until I come out on the other side with a deeper sense of self.

I think the most troubling thing for me is that now, these things have become like proof. A way to tell myself “Look, you’re still the same introspective, thoughtful girl.” Instead of taking pleasure in them, they’ve become a crutch for me to reassure myself that I haven’t lost who I am to the demands of my degree and my busy life. That I’m still the same girl.

I never want to lose sight of the things that shaped me and maybe that’s why I feel so uneasy at the possibility of not finding joy in these things anymore. They’re important to me. To admit that they no longer resonate the way they used to feels like betraying a version of myself I loved. The girl that was sensitive. The girl that was moved by the profound kindness in The Book Thief or the foreboding atmosphere of the moors in the Hound of the Baskervilles. The girl that was able to spend hours on a walk simply thinking and dreaming.

I guess I’m hoping that despite all the time away, despite the hectic schedules and long days, she’s still there.

Whenever I open a book or start a show and begin to feel that disconnect, it makes me think, “If even the things that used to bring me joy now seem like a hassle, is something wrong with me? Did I lose the ability to enjoy things simply for what they are if there’s no exam or evaluation at the end of it?” Those are thoughts I don’t even feel ready to address yet.

Of course, every day isn’t like this. Some days, I write in my journal just like I used to and don’t notice the time passing; other days, I read and get transported to different time periods and follow the lives of enthralling characters. Those moments still exist. I think I’m just afraid they’re becoming the exception rather than the rule.

Then again, maybe the common denominator between all my cherished experiences is that I wasn’t expecting any of them. I didn’t turn on the first episode of Naruto or open the first page of Crime and Punishment expecting it to be this transformative experience. It was just something I was open to. Something I wanted to try, and each of them ended up becoming more important to me than I could have ever anticipated. Maybe that’s what I need to focus on. Not the actions themselves, but that attitude. That feeling that time isn’t going anywhere and that spending it trying out different things isn’t a waste. Maybe this summer, instead of chasing this emotional breakthrough, I need to become comfortable with curiosity again and just trust that the things that shape us most often do so quietly, when we’re not looking for them.