Make Something Just for You

Somewhere along the way, many of us stopped making things simply because we enjoyed making them.

When we’re children, making things seems perfectly normal. We draw pictures without wondering whether we’re talented. We cut paper, make bracelets, colour, build strange things out of cardboard and proudly show someone whatever we’ve created. Nobody asks whether our drawing is useful. Nobody wonders whether the bracelet could become a business. We make things because making them is fun.

Then somewhere along the way, many of us stop.

As adults, we seem to approach hobbies differently. If we paint, we want the painting to look good.

If we bake, we photograph the finished cake. If we sew, journal, crochet or make jewellery, eventually someone says: “You should sell these.” It’s usually meant as a compliment.

But there’s something rather lovely about having an activity that doesn’t need to become anything more. Something you’re allowed to be mediocre at. Something you don’t need to monetise. Something that doesn’t need an audience. Something you simply enjoy doing.

Creativity can be choosing colours for a page, trying a new recipe, arranging flowers,making a birthday card, taking photographs, decorating a cake, putting together a journal spread, making something from a piece of leather an evn figuring out how to repair something rather than throwing it away.

Creativity isn’t necessarily about producing art. Sometimes it’s simply the pleasure of deciding:

There is something I particularly enjoy about hobbies that involve the hands. When I’m making something, my attention becomes smaller. Instead of thinking about ten different things, I’m thinking about the thing directly in front of me.

The problems haven’t disappeared. Life hasn’t suddenly become quiet. I’ve simply given my mind somewhere else to be for a while and sometimes that’s enough.

Even our leisure can become another form of productivity. But a hobby doesn’t necessarily need an outcome. You can spend two hours painting something and dislike the finished piece. Those two hours weren’t wasted. You can bake something that collapses. You still baked. You can fill a page with doodles you never show anyone. The page still gave you somewhere to spend a quiet half hour. The experience itself can be the point.

Adults don’t get many opportunities to be beginners. At work, we’re expected to know what we’re doing. At home, people rely on us. There are responsibilities, decisions and things we’re supposed to manage competently. Then you pick up a new hobby. Suddenly, you’re terrible at something again. Your proportions are wrong. Your cake looks nothing like the photograph. Your handwriting doesn’t resemble the beautiful journal pages you saw online. And that’s okay.

There is freedom in doing something where the stakes are almost nonexistent.

Nobody is grading you.

You also don’t need to find your one true hobby. I’ve moved through different interests at different stages of my life. Some stay. Some disappear for years and come back. Some I enjoy briefly and then realise aren’t for me. That’s not failure. A hobby served its purpose while you enjoyed it. You don’t owe it lifelong commitment. There are unfinished projects in cupboards all over the world proving this.

Many adults genuinely don’t have hours of uninterrupted free time. I don’t think the solution is necessarily to “make time” by creating another rigid routine. Start smaller. Ten minutes of doodling. Decorating one journal page. Making something while watching television. Trying one new recipe at the weekend. You don’t need a craft room. You don’t need expensive supplies. You don’t even need to do it every day. A hobby should fit around your life. Your life shouldn’t have to reorganise itself around your hobby.

Perhaps this is what I value most. Much of adult life is done for someone or something else. A creative hobby can be one small corner that belongs entirely to you. You decide what to make. You decide when it’s finished. You decide whether anyone ever sees it.

And occasionally, you might make something you’re genuinely proud of.

But even then, that isn’t the most important part. The important part is that for a little while, you weren’t producing, managing, organising or achieving. You were simply making something.

And enjoying yourself.