When was the last time you did something just for fun—and didn’t post it, track it, or try to get better at it?
Not something for work. Not something “productive.” Not something that doubled as a side hustle or fed your personal brand. Just something that made you feel alive, curious, or at peace.
For a lot of adults, the answer is hard to find. The absence is quiet but noticeable—like forgetting a language you once spoke fluently. At some point, the watercolor set got pushed to the back of the closet. The guitar collected dust. The puzzle table turned into a laundry drop zone.
We haven’t run out of time. We’ve run out of permission.
Hobbies, Lost to Hustle Culture
It’s not that hobbies disappeared. It’s that they got renamed. Monetized. Tracked. Optimized.
A generation ago, hobbies were proudly unproductive. Model trains. Woodworking. Gardening. Painting little figurines and never showing a soul. But today, the line between hobby and hustle is blurry at best, nonexistent at worst.
A decade ago, if you baked bread or crocheted hats, it was a way to unwind. Now it’s a potential income stream. Should you start an Etsy store? Monetize your Instagram? Turn it into content? If it’s not scalable, is it still worth doing?
The very platforms we use to explore our creativity are the ones turning that creativity into performance. TikTok has made hobbies look cool again—but only if you’re good at them. Pinterest is packed with inspiration—but little room for process. We consume hobbies instead of doing them. We admire leisure we no longer make space for.
The Psychological Cost of “Always Optimizing”
There’s a name for this creeping pressure to turn everything into output: instrumentalization. It’s when we start to value activities only for what they produce, not how they feel.
In psychology, intrinsic motivation—doing something for its own sake—is closely linked to wellbeing, satisfaction, and long-term engagement. But once you tie that same activity to an external outcome (money, status, performance), the joy shifts. It becomes something to win at. Something to prove.
This isn’t just theory. In a landmark study, children who loved drawing were split into two groups: one group was rewarded with gold stars, the other was not. After just a few sessions, the gold-star group became less interested in drawing on their own time. The reward had quietly displaced the joy.
As adults, we gold-star ourselves constantly. A runner can’t enjoy a jog without logging it on Strava. A home cook can’t try a new dish without photographing it. A reader feels guilty unless the book is “serious” or “improves” them.
We’ve forgotten how to be bad at things. And that’s killing our hobbies.
When Fun Starts to Feel Like Work
Talk to anyone who’s turned a hobby into a side gig, and you’ll hear the same story: at first, it’s exciting. Then it becomes a spreadsheet.
One woman started painting as a pandemic hobby. She posted her work online, got a few compliments, then opened an Etsy shop. Within a year, she wasn’t painting what she liked anymore—she was painting what sold. And it felt like work.
A guy picked up guitar again in his 30s after a long break. He started learning covers, uploaded some to YouTube. The feedback was good—too good. Now he felt pressure to improve, post regularly, and “not waste his reach.” He stopped playing after six months.
The core problem is this: when hobbies become performative, we lose the freedom to explore without judgment. We can’t tinker, dabble, or fail privately. We either turn it into a project—or we quit.
The False Binary of Productivity vs. Play
One of the great myths of adulthood is that there’s a wall between productivity and play. That we work over here, and have fun (if there’s time) over there. But in reality, the two are deeply linked.
Non-goal-oriented leisure has measurable benefits. Studies show that unstructured play reduces stress, improves problem-solving, and even boosts creativity in knowledge workers. Some of the most successful people in business and tech have serious hobbies—astronomy, music, gardening—not as escape, but as fuel.
It turns out that when we stop optimizing everything, we often perform better in the areas we do care about.
The deeper truth? A well-lived life needs things that are just for you. That don’t scale. That can’t be monetized. That are free to be inefficient, irregular, and deeply satisfying.
How to Find a Hobby Again
Here’s what doesn’t work: Googling “30 hobbies to try” and choosing one at random.
Here’s what might:
1. Try
Sample something. Not with commitment—just with curiosity. Sketch on a napkin. Rent a bike. Go to a free dance class. Try one session of pottery, not a six-week course.
Low-stakes exploration is the antidote to perfectionism.
2. Test
Did you think about it after? Did it make you want to go back? If not, move on. If yes, tinker.
3. Tinker
Allow mess. Let yourself be a beginner. Do it badly, slowly, inconsistently. Give yourself full permission to enjoy something without being good at it.
Don’t post about it. Don’t track it. Don’t talk about it unless you want to. Let it belong to you.
4. Commit
Only after it makes your life better—not because you think it should. You don’t have to get a hobby “right.” You just have to keep doing it.
You’re Allowed to Do Things Just Because
Here’s the quiet truth that many adults need to hear:
You’re allowed to do things badly. You’re allowed to do things without documenting them. You’re allowed to enjoy something that doesn’t go anywhere. You don’t need to justify fun.
Not everything has to become a second job. Not every hour needs to be optimized. Some of the most healing, sustaining parts of life are the ones with no endpoint and no audience.
So try something. A puzzle. A piano. A coloring book. A model rocket. A dance class. A walk without headphones. A pen and a piece of paper.
Not because it makes you better—but because it makes you whole.