Signs That Your Hobby Defines You
The signs that your hobby defines you rarely appear all at once. You begin, for example, by taking up bird watching. Six months later you are explaining binocular specifications to a cashier who merely asked whether you wanted a receipt. What went wrong?
A hobby is something of a Trojan horse. It seems relaxing. Offers a break from work. A creative outlet. A pleasant diversion from the endless administrative burdens of modern life.
Then something happens. The hobby stops being a thing you do and becomes the thing you are. That person spending $89 at the DMV so that strangers can read “GOLFGUY,” “FISHN4VR,” or “KNITLVR” while waiting at a traffic light.
You tell yourself it is fun. Everyone else assumes you have suffered a minor lapse in judgment.
Next, a rec room stops being a rec room. It now contains display cases, specialized lighting, dozens of framed photographs, rare equipment, commemorative posters, and enough accessories to qualify as a small museum. Visitors are given guided tours. Whether they want them or not.
Before long you begin referring to hobby expenses as investments. A normal person sees a $700 purchase. You see an opportunity. A normal person sees six nearly identical pieces of equipment. You see crucial distinctions invisible to the untrained eye.
Gradually you talk more and more about less and less. God help the person who sees your sweater and ventures a question about curling. He is in for a forty-five minute explanation unless he is fortunate enough to get a phone call about a minor family emergency.
You now spend most of your time with fellow enthusiasts. These people understand you, mainly because they suffer from the same condition. Together you discuss equipment, techniques, trends, controversies, and rumors that sound completely insane when overheard by outsiders.
You do not choose vacation spots because they are beautiful. You choose them because they are useful. Your hobby determines where you travel, what you pack, and how much money mysteriously disappears from your checking account afterward.
The final stage: you feel personally offended by criticism. Someone says your hobby seems boring. Instead of shrugging, you prepare a defense worthy of a war crimes tribunal. Because the hobby is no longer a pastime. It is an identity.
The good news is you’re not alone. Millions of people have reached this stage. They all are currently meeting in convention centers, specialty shops, online forums, and converted basements, reassuring one another that this level of commitment is perfectly normal. It is not. But it is impressively common.
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