“Life does not have to be perfect to be wonderful.” —Annette Funicello
I cannot tell you how much I dislike the term “adulting.” And yet, I haven’t come up with a better word for it, so here we are. There are entire corners of the internet dedicated to reminding us that being an adult is difficult, making us laugh about how difficult it is, and giving us tips for making it less difficult.
In all this internet chatter about life as an adult being a real drag, I wonder if we are actually talking about a desire for living beyond survival. Finding joy amidst the daily grind, and maintaining a spark of motivation outside our occupation. Engaging in creativity and community that lifts our minds from the growing pile of laundry or approaching deadlines. Experiencing delight and wonder that balances the inevitable stress of daily life.
A few of my older students once asked why they needed to know how to read music. I thought about it, and said something like, “Even if you’re not in choir or band next year, it’s still pretty cool to know that you could make music for fun for the rest of your life!” One student said, “Grown-ups don’t really do things just for fun, though.” The more I thought about this, the more it bothered me. There have been weeks and even months when I work, keep house, pay bills, eat, sleep and repeat. These times are not my best, and during these times, I am not my best self.
Recently, I have made a conscious effort to avoid living only to survive, and I can quickly recognize the change in my mood and mental state when I forget. Living beyond survival can mean different things for different people, and even different things on different days. Whatever it might look like for you, there is no doubt we can all benefit from having a hobby. Studies consistently show that hobbies reduce stress, increase satisfaction and purpose, and promote relaxation. Hobbies involving physical activity have obvious health benefits—many hobbies can improve cognitive function and delay cognitive decline, and often lead to social connection with those who share our interests.
I’m always amazed at how much adults can learn from children, and I believe in looking to my own childhood to answer questions about my adult life. Who was I before the world told me who to be? I was a singer, a dancer and a daydreamer. I had a wild imagination, and I loved expressing myself and connecting with others. I loved playing outside, climbing trees and running through grass with bare feet. Writing down my thoughts and feelings. Telling stories. Making things from popsicle sticks and leftover craft paint or fabric scraps. I still want to do all these things.
For years, I knew I would love to sing in a choir again, but I convinced myself I didn’t have the time, and I probably wasn’t good enough anymore anyway, and it was way too scary to audition for something new at my age. Last summer, I finally did it. I auditioned for the High Plains Choral Society. I have spent this school year singing and spending time with wonderful people each week, and it brings me so much joy. Who were you as a child, and what could that mean for you as an adult? Could you join a sports team, start a book club or take a class?
Not all hobbies involve joining an organization, or remembering childhood, of course. A couple of years ago, I found myself regularly watching time-lapse videos of people embroidering, and eventually I realized it was pretty silly to be so enthralled with watching something when I could easily try it myself. I ordered a kit for beginners, and got to work. I have since created custom pieces for many loved ones, and sometimes sit down to embroider just for the sake of doing it. I don’t know if I am excellent at it, but that was never really the point. I am making something charming and unique, and I am doing it with my own two hands, and a lot of love.
Lately, I have been looking for moments of joy and glimmers of frivolity that don’t qualify as hobbies. Escaping the daily grind doesn’t have to be planned in advance or involve any effort or commitment. Just this past Friday night, at the conclusion of a family dinner, we began to discuss what we’d do next, and an idea came to me. It was a beautiful evening, we had at least an hour of daylight, so we all went to the park, and I played. I don’t mean that I watched the kids play; I mean that I, a middle-aged woman, played at the park. I took full advantage of the swings and the slides and a strangely lopsided merry-go-round contraption that didn’t exist in my younger days. We laughed and talked and sang and took silly pictures. I felt genuine delight, and I slept like a baby. I woke up with sore shoulders and terrible allergies, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Life isn’t perfect. Being a person is difficult, and I’m still worried about things I can’t control, my house isn’t as clean as I wish it was, I almost never get enough sleep, and I’m thinking about the to-do list on my desk at work at this very moment, but life can be wonderful when we make time for wonderful things.
This summer and beyond, I encourage you to find ways to live beyond survival. To disengage from “adulting.” To join, to create and to play.
