doing fun things and doing hard things
I’ve been back at school for a week now. Maybe it’s the go-go-go culture of Duke, or maybe it’s that I’m getting old, but I’m surprised at how long it’s taken me to get back into the swing of things on campus. I’m still battling the remnants of jetlag, plus I’m on day ten of trying to quit caffeine. Been sleepwalking through my days.
Cube rush was happening last week. I met a rushee, and we started talking about how a lot of people fall off track with their old hobbies once they get to college. I joked that Duke is a creativity killer. Come to think of it, what do I do for fun?
What is the utility of doing something for fun anyway? Does anything have to be purely for fun? To be fair, I don’t think we can entirely separate fun from achievement because things are more fun when you’re good at them. Think about the distinction between hobbies for pleasure versus those for performance. The key differentiator lies in the audience — is the motivation internal, for personal satisfaction, or external, for others to see? Hobbies can easily become a means to an end. They can be an avenue for self-improvement, socializing, or simply passing the time. Just don’t forget to notice when you stop enjoying something.
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I stopped drawing a while ago. I felt bad every time I picked up my pencil because I knew I would never be as good at art as I was in high school. I’ve made art about producing a deliverable (sorry consulting speak). I’ve put this pressure on myself to make something good, something that others will admire. I used to draw for the heck of it. Now, I don’t see myself making art for fun anymore.
On the other hand, I’ve had the courage to start playing piano again. With my newfound free time in senior year, I’ve been taking private lessons. I guess it’s easier to play piano decently than it is to make good art. All you have to do is sit down in front of the piano and pull out your old favorite piece — the keys intrinsically sound good. Whereas with art, you have to come up with an idea, sketch it out, fix the wonky anatomy and perspective, add color, light, shadow… I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Art is hard.
Is a hobby more valuable if you have something to show for it? I love reading, but it feels like a weaksauce answer to the question of how I spend my free time. Reading is a form of consumption, whereas art and music are ways to produce something. I catch myself jealous of those who can sing and dance — they shine in the spotlight because people love watching performance arts. Sometimes I wish I had a more dazzling talent.
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Hobbies become more enjoyable when we remove the pressure to be good at them. I recently started learning Brahms’ Rhapsody in G Minor on the piano. In class, we were discussing the technique of letting my arm freely drop into each note instead of keeping my hands close to the keys. Overpreparing to play each note in advance produces a small, pinched sound because you’re not leaving room to strike the key. Not the rich, grand sound I want for the Rhapsody. So many piano players have their fingers hovering over the keys to ensure they play the right notes, but they’re compromising the quality of the sound. In contrast, dropping into the note with your arm and giving it your everything produces something fuller — something more like music.
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My brain’s been dragging its feet lately. I don’t want to fold my laundry. I don’t want to write this essay. Why do we resist the things we have to do? Maybe mental resistance arises from the “have to” in the narrative we tell ourselves. Sometimes I dread working out because I put pressure on myself to achieve a sweaty, out-of-breath, perfect-form-PR-hitting-90-minute gym session. With piano, the fear of playing a wrong note makes me not want to practice at all.
It feels safer to avoid doing something at all than to be bad at it. When I was studying abroad in Stockholm last year, I actively kept myself from making new friends out of a fear of rejection. I was scared I wouldn’t connect with my peers, that I wouldn’t fit in. Better to keep to myself and put up walls, I thought. Being vulnerable is tough, but so was the loneliness of being in a foreign country all alone and not speaking to another human being for days.
We fear failure. Inaction is the easier immediate choice.
But maybe being scared is a sign that you’re on the right path, because you’re trying. Or you know what success looks like. Things that are worth it don’t come easy — now you just have to take the opportunity to prove yourself. Remember, resistance is just a symptom.
