Confession: You can find me in the garden

A few months ago, my husband asked me what he thought was a totally innocuous question, “Why don’t you have any hobbies?” Spoiler alert: it was not an innocuous question. I was instantly triggered and launched into a tirade about how the reason I don’t have hobbies is because my hobbies are taking care of the kids and the house in addition to trying to have a career and take care of myself, and my parents, and my friends, and my siblings, and the dog, and him. You see my husband has a lot of hobbies. He bikes, surfs, walks, runs, rock climbs, mountain climbs, and has dabbled in krav maga, jujitsu, boxing and more. He is also an avid reader, and engages in many mental wellness practices like journaling and meditation. He’s also a great dad. A really great dad. It’s hard not to compare myself to him. We’ve had a lot of talks about how different people have different energy levels and capabilities, and he clearly has more energy than me — especially for physical things. But he is also someone that makes time for himself even though he’s working over 60 hours a week, and even if that means waking up at 4 am, which he often does.

I’ve thought a lot about why he has the bandwidth to have hobbies and I don’t. There is the mental load I carry for our family and our home, which would be a very simple and valid excuse. But there’s also another simple explanation: he prioritizes himself in a way that I don’t. And by self, I don’t mean the hustler achiever productive boss our society wants him to be. I mean the connected, inspired, and nature-oriented human he was born to be in Anchorage, Alaska in 1980. He was born to be wild. We’ve had many struggles over the years regarding where we live and how we are living due to the fact that our origins and expectations of life have been so different. And while my reasons for remaining in Los Angeles, despite the ever-increasing pressures that come with it, remain the same — my parents are here — my understanding of why he would want to leave continues to grow. It feels dangerous to write this publicly, since for so many years I’ve had to fight so fiercely to protect the life I have here. But I can’t help but imagine a life somewhere that moves a little slower, costs a little less, and has room for us to be more wild. To be more free. To have… more hobbies.

One of my sketches from 9th grade (1997). One of my compositions from 4th grade (1992).

My hobbies were my whole identity growing up. I spent every moment outside of school devoted to them: playing the piano, singing, drawing, writing, beading, crafting, creating. My free time was devoted to expressing myself. I do also wonder if this has something to do with being a child of the 80s and 90s in a world that was so much less tech-driven than the one my children now inhabit. Who wouldn’t choose to play the piano or draw when the alternative was simply to be bored? There was no Netflix, Roblox, or countless other digital distractions I have to restrict so that my children can have some semblance of the childhood I once had. I wonder if my adulthood isn’t as devoted to the creativity of my youth because I’ve fallen prey to the very vices I hide from my kids: the phone, the TV, the endless scroll.

When I think about hobbies, and why they’re important, two things come up: self-expression/development, and freedom from the rate race (also known as being present).

Hobbies are something we engage in not because they’re going to help us get ahead — but rather because they’re something that’s going to help us be here. Now.

To give your singular attention to something and nurture it as it simultaneously nurtures you, this is the ultimate act of devotion. I’m ready to remember what that feels like.

As though a sign from the universe, this week my Apple News feed on my phone fed me an article that extolls the magic of the garden. For artist Rikki Wright, the garden is her luxury. I’m going to share a few paragraphs of her take on luxury, which sounds an awful lot like why I think I need to pick up a hobby again.

Art and text by artist Rikki Wright.

“Luxury is such a spectrum. What luxury means for me — and I would say a lot of people may share my sentiments — is not necessarily being lazy but just doing the things that make me feel good on a daily basis without any anxiety or stress. Any time I’m not working or finding work or thinking about money that needs to be made so that I can just pay bills and live, I’m filled with a ton of anxiety. Reading a book these days is hard for me, just taking the time to do that. But as I was taking these images — which is why I love self-portraits because it’s self-reflection, and the entire process is reflection — I’m like, wow, you can take the time and you can carve out 20 minutes. Everything’s gonna be just fine.

I think I was just tapping into childhood, the inner kid. I feel like the images that I took really do embody parts of my personality. I’m in the garden, watering my garden. That is a meditation for me — I can just get lost pruning things and sitting in the garden and seeing all the new little flowers and the fruit. I sometimes don’t even have time at all these days to do that anymore.

All of my faves? That’s what they’re doing after all the hard work: Pam Grier, Kelis — the girls are in the garden. That’s the goal! In “Baby Boy,” Tyrese Gibson’s mom is in South Central in this garden that’s giving pergola and tomatoes and she’s just there smoking her cigarette, drinking her wine. Seeing that image very young — I had never seen a Black woman chilling in the garden like that before. I was so appreciative of that. Now, at this age, I understand Jody’s mom, sitting in the garden with her cigarette and just giving exhale.”

—Rikki Wright, “I’m in the garden, watering my garden. Everything is going to be just fine.” for the Los Angeles Times. Keep reading here.

I’ve been working on a new book proposal, and it’s about poetry inspired by the garden. The thing is, I’m not much of a gardener. Reading Rikki’s piece (and enjoying all the self-portraits she took for it) makes me realize that before I can write my new book, I need to embody the space I want to write about. My whole life my parents have been avid gardeners, their garden even inspiring one of my favorite poems in The Shift. That being said, until recently I never admired them for it. In fact I was a bit judgmental. Why would anyone spend their entire weekend engaged in manual labor? Why would anyone spend all their money on trees?

And then one afternoon, I got down on my knees and put my hands in the dirt and weeded my garden for a few hours. It was the closest I’ve come to meditation or prayer in years.

Something tells me that although the hobbies of my youth were all focused on creative expression, now that creativity/poetry is my job, it’s time for me to give gardening a try, book proposal or not.

The Shift, the poem (left) inspired by my parents’ rose garden (right).

I don’t need to share the research here about how good a hobby is for your mental health. One google search will reveal to you that study after study has shown that hobbies reduce stress and burnout, can save you from prolonged social isolation if you do them in groups (which is as bad for you as smoking a pack of cigarettes a day), and they promote mindfulness, confidence, and joy. But what I will do, since you already know how good it is to have a hobby, is give you what I think I needed to give myself: permission. A hobby requires giving yourself permission to do something that isn’t productive. And if you’re as entrenched in being productive and fulfilling your full potential as I am, there’s a lot of shame around being unproductive. Even this, the new hobby I say I’m choosing, is inextricably linked to the book proposal, which means that I’m still ultimately tethered to the idea that when I devote my time to something, it must yield a tangible (and often financially viable) output. We all have work to do clearly, including me, especially now that there is so so much to be deeply worried about.

Self Love Poetry.

My first step is simply to place myself in the garden and observe it. As Rikki Wright shared, the luxury is to go there, watch the flowers and fruit, and remember that “everything’s gonna be just fine.” To breathe, to exhale. To be. Below I’ve shared the playlist I’ll be listening when I do.

If this resonated, please like, comment, subscribe and share!