Reconnect with a Forgotten Hobby

When was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?

Not because it was productive. Not because it looked impressive on LinkedIn. Not even because it burned calories or built skills or gave you bragging rights at the next family get-together.

Just something fun. For no reason at all.

For most of us, the answer is probably: “Umm… I don’t even remember.”

And that’s okay. Adulting does this weird thing where we treat hobbies like luxury items — something you get back to after you’ve finished everything else.

Which, let’s be honest… never really happens.

The Vanishing Act of Childhood Joys

Growing up, we all had a “thing.”

Maybe you were the kid who was always doodling in the margins of your notebook. Or the one who built towers out of LEGO that somehow always ended up looking like the Qutub Minar. Maybe you sang into a hairbrush when no one was looking. Or played cricket until the sun threatened to set and your mom yelled from the balcony.

And then, somewhere along the way — during the Great Migration to Adulthood — these little joys quietly slipped away. Replaced by taxes, targets, traffic, and well-meaning WhatsApp forwards from relatives about the benefits of turmeric water.

But here’s the thing: Your inner child didn’t disappear. They’re just patiently waiting behind all that grown-up noise, wondering if you’ll ever come out to play again.

A Coloring Book, a Cold Winter, and the Surprise Sweater

Now let me tell you what brought this post to life.

During the last few months of my wife Navya’s pregnancy, we found ourselves more homebound than usual. Winter in Canada isn’t exactly walk-in-the-park weather (unless that park is frozen solid). Long walks and movie nights took a back seat.

One evening, Navya pulled out a small coloring book she had picked up on a whim during a grocery run. “It just looked peaceful,” she said. She sat down with a warm blanket, some colored pencils, and began to fill in the petals of a mandala.

No noise. No screen. Just color meeting paper. It started as a casual thing. But soon, it became her evening ritual. Some nights, I’d just sit beside her, watching her sketch with this look of quiet focus — almost meditative. It was soothing, not just for her, but for both of us.

That simple act reminded me that we don’t always need a “purpose” to do something.

Joy is a purpose.

And then came the unexpected twist: My mother arrived from India just before our son was born, carrying a “small” bag and one big surprise — a hand-knitted baby sweater.

I blinked. “You knit this?!” She smiled. “Of course. You think I’ll come to meet my grandson empty-handed?”
I hadn’t seen her knit in years. She used to love it — back when I was a kid, our home had half-finished scarves peeking out of drawers like woolly snakes. But over the years, that part of her got buried under work, responsibilities, and well, raising me. Turns out, during our pregnancy, she’d picked up her needles again. Quietly. Patiently. Stitch by stitch. Like she was weaving her love into every loop.

In one winter, I watched my wife and my mother — two women from different generations — return to hobbies they had once loved and left behind. Not for a project. Not for Instagram. But simply because it brought them back to themselves.

It moved me more than I expected.

Hobbies Aren’t Extra — They’re Essential

In our hyper-productive world, we treat hobbies like dessert. “Nice to have,” but only if you’ve finished all your broccoli.

But the truth is, hobbies are more like dal-chawal — comforting, grounding, and always there when you need them most. They’re the mental equivalent of taking off your shoes after a long day. They don’t demand outcomes. They don’t track your KPIs. They just ask that you show up as you are.

And in return, they offer joy, calm, curiosity, and that strange and wonderful feeling of being lost in something — in the best way.

“But I Don’t Have Time!”

Ah yes. The greatest adult lie of all time.

Here’s the thing — we’re not really short on time. We’re short on intentional time.

We somehow find hours to scroll reels of people making tiny cupcakes or cleaning their bathrooms aggressively with vinegar. But 15 minutes to sketch a flower or hum an old Bollywood tune?
“Sorry, bro. No bandwidth.” Let’s not beat ourselves up about it. Let’s just be honest. We’ve forgotten how to be playful. We’ve mistaken rest for laziness. And we’ve outsourced our joy to screens.

Reclaiming a forgotten hobby is like quietly saying: “No, I’m not too busy to enjoy my life.” Even if it’s just 10 minutes a week.

Want to Reconnect? Here’s How to Start

1. Remember What Made You Lose Track of Time
   
   Think back. What did you love doing as a kid or teen? What felt fun, effortless, exciting — even if you weren’t good at it? That’s your breadcrumb trail.
   
2. Start Small (and Silly)
   
   You don’t need new gear or expensive materials. Sketch on a grocery bill. Sing in the shower. Knit a bookmark. You’re not performing — you’re playing.
   
3. Create a No-Judgment Zone
   
   This is not a side hustle. It’s not about monetizing your hobby or “being productive.” Leave that pressure at the door. This is your guilt-free zone.
   
4. Make It Ritualistic
   
   A cup of chai. Your favorite playlist. A cozy corner. Turn your hobby into a little ceremony you look forward to.
   
5. Let Others Inspire You
   
   Ask your parents what they used to love doing before life took over. You might discover a surprise sweater of your own.
   

Cultural Note: The “Hobby” We Often Miss

In Indian families, we often don’t even use the word hobby seriously.

Growing up, if you said you wanted to be a painter or write poems, someone would raise an eyebrow and say, “Beta, that’s nice — but how will you earn?” So we learned to hide our hobbies. We called them “timepass.” We labeled them “useless.” And then we slowly forgot how healing they were.

But here’s the truth — hobbies aren’t distractions from life. They are life. They are the pause, the exhale, the breath between two long meetings. They’re your personality beyond your profession.

And sometimes, they’re how we pass love between generations — quietly, without words. Like a hand-knitted sweater. Or a colored mandala.

From the Curious Optimist

You’re not too old to play. You’re not too busy to feel joy.
And you’re definitely not too late to pick up where you left off.

Your inner child probably knew what mattered. Maybe it’s time to listen.

Until next Monday — stay curious, stay kind, and stay wonderfully unproductive — at least for a little while.

The Curious Optimist
Live curious. Think optimistic.