Hobbies

For most of my life, I’ve been someone who defines myself through hobbies. I’ve always been fascinated by the small rituals that surround everyday life and make ordinary moments beautiful. However, somewhere along the way I begun to lose that.

When I came to college, life became increasingly optimized around work. My days filled with classes, projects, research, internships, recruiting, meetings, and deadlines. Every hour seemed to require a measurable purpose, and before I realized it I slowly optimized away nearly everything that didn’t have an obvious return.

My hobbies disappeared. Not all at once, but gradually. I stopped making time for the things that once made me feel grounded because they seemed inefficient. Why listen to an entire album when Spotify can shuffle songs endlessly? Why cook elaborate dinners when meal prep exists?

None of these choices felt significant individually. but together, they fundamentally changed how I experienced my days.

Over the past year I’ve made a conscious effort to reverse that trend and I’ve felt more fulfilled than I have in a long time. Rather than searching for a singular defining hobby I’ve arrived upon a collection of small rituals. I’ve accumulated a solid set of activities that ask me to slow down, to pay attention, and to enjoy the process rather than rush toward the outcome.

Through this I’ve come to believe deeply that for me at least that I am someone who very very much loves friction. Friction that serves to force you to be intentional with your life and appreciate how incredible it is to be alive. Friction that forces you to slow down and smell the roses if you will.

Shaving

I think the clearest example is shaving. Objectively, a wet shave with a double edged razor is a worse solution than a quick shave with an electric or cartridge razor. There’s many ways I could use to justify this but I don’t believe that this is any better for my skin than a foil razor or any cheaper considering how deeply I’ve dove into this.

However there’s something deeply enjoyable about the whole process. Preparing your warm towel for your face, soaking the shaving brush, warming a handmade ceramic scuttle, building a rich lather from an artisan soap, shaving with an aggressive safety razor that demands your attention, and finishing with your post shaving routine.

The process is valuable precisely for its inneficciency. It’s valuable because it turns this simple every day activity into something I actively look forward to. It forces me to realize how incredible it is to be so lucky to be able to slow down and enjoy my life.

The same philosophy extends into skincare. I don’t think any singular part of it is incredibly exciting but together it creates a few quiet moments each day where I slow down and just breathe. It also helps that I get to feel like a little kid making potions or playing with dolls.

Listening Instead of Consuming

Music became another place where I wanted more friction. I’ve always been someone that listens to a lot of music. For years I listened to 120k+ minutes on spotify. However the more I listened I felt the less I absorbed.

I think the sort of inflection point here came when my amazing partner bought be a record player. The process of spinning a record forces you to buy into the album. I’m often reminded of certain portions of Tarkovsky’s ideology. From my understanding he believed that slow cinema forced the watcher through a threshold of restlessness into a state of deep emotional resonance. The time spent is an emotional investment that makes the payoff incredibly more valuable.

Similarly, the process of choosing an album, letting it spin and dusting it with a carbon fiber brush, and dropping the needle forces you to invest into the music. It becomes less accessible and so I find I appreciate it more.

This isn’t to say digital audio has no place. I’m listening to a great jazz album right now through my DAC on the same system. I believe that technology has an incredible ability to improve our lives and rejecting technological innovation isn’t the solution. However, I believe being more deliberate with our use of technology allows us to live fuller lives.

Tasting with Intention

Tea and chocolate have become similar exercises. I have always loved chocolate and recently started getting into tea. However I feel as with many other things you get out of them what you put into them. There is a time and place to eat candy bars but there is also a time and place to slow down and be very conscious about your tasting.

I find my favorite teas to be ones that reward patience. They reward learning about the character of the tea and how it wishes to be brewed and the most you can do is shape its flavor. By slowing down and going through the full ritual of brewing tea you invest into the process and begin noticing little things you never would have otherwise. The subtle fruitiness in an otherwise earhty and rich 30 year old Sheng Pu’er. The floral qualities of an otherwise nutty oolong. The rich roastiness of a beautiful Golden Monkey tea.

High-percentage artisan chocolate asks for the same thing. Instead of treating chocolate like candy, you begin to notice texture, bitterness, fruit, acidity, and aromas that disappear if you simply eat the bar absentmindedly.

These are tiny experiences.

But they remind me how much richness exists in everyday life when I stop trying to get through it as quickly as possible.

Again similarly to the alst section I’m not above consuming large amounts of chocolate. I love my pound bars from Trader Joes and will probably never give them up. However, I think life requires balance and both experiences are incredibly important.

Setting the Atmosphere

Lately I’ve found myself paying more attention to the spaces where these rituals happen.

A candle lit before settling into a film. A diffuser filling the room with cedar, bergamot, or eucalyptus while I read or work. The warm glow of a lamp replacing the harsh light overhead as evening sets in.

Even if these don’t necesarily change what I’m doing they drastically alter the experience of that activity. It helps that I again get to feel like a little kid making potions but I feel like by spending the 5 minutes to do this I become incredibly attuned to my environemnt and hyperaware of the joys in the little details.

Like so many of my hobbies, these small choices ask me to slow down just enough to notice where I am instead of rushing toward whatever comes next.

Activities That Resist Optimization

Mountain biking occupies a different space. Unlike many of my hobbies, it isn’t quiet.

I ride a custom-built Chromag Stylus, a steel hardtail with 26-inch wheels. I realize that doesn’t mean much to most people but that is atypical and very intentionally so. Steel is a soft and heavy material. The mountain biking world seems to move towards carbon fiber and aluminum for lightness but steel is softer than these two. It makes the ride feel alive in a way I can’t describe very well but I think everyone should experience. Hardtails are becoming less and less popular especially custom built ones in favor of full suspension bikes. However a hardtail forces you to be more in deeply int une with your bike. Your legs are the rear shocks and so you are forced to be fully aware of what you’re doing without a rear shock to compensate for a moment of missed attention. The 26 inch wheels have since been replaced by 29 inch or 27.5 inch wheels which let you go faster and roll over much of the terrain.

Like many of the things I enjoy, it’s a deliberate choice to embrace a little more friction. You feel the roots, the rocks, and every line choice beneath your tires. The bike forces you to work with the terrain instead of floating above it.

Mountain biking does offer something the rest of my hobbies don’t which is thati t demands complete presence. On a technical descent, there is no room to think about emails, research, or tomorrow’s deadlines. Every corner requires complete and total attention. Every mistake has immediate consequences. For an hour or two, the rest of the world simply disappears.

Watching Films Slowly

Perhaps no hobby reflects this philosophy more than cinema. I’ve become increasingly interested in films that reward repeated viewing rather than immediate gratification. Many of my favorite films, whether 2001: A Space Odyssey, Stalker, Yi Yi, Persona, or La Jetée, reveal themselves gradually over time. They’re films that ask something from the viewer. I’ve noticed that the movies I return to most often are rarely the easiest to watch. They invite contemplation instead of consumption. I’ve even found that writing about them has become part of the experience. A film doesn’t necessarily end when the credits roll. Sometimes it continues evolving in your mind for weeks afterward.

Small Objects, Long Relationships

As I’ve entered adulthood, I’ve found myself increasingly drawn to objects that are meant to age alongside the people who own them.

There’s something deeply satisfying about buying something with the expectation that it will still be with you decades from now. Shoes that can be resoled. A leather wallet that develops a patina instead of being replaced. Tools that become more personal with use rather than less desirable. A mechanical watch whose tiny movement quietly marks the passing of time. A wooden mechanical keyboard whose switches make typing feel deliberate instead of disposable.

They’re small reminders that the objects surrounding us don’t have to be invisible. They can ask us to slow down, to care for them, and in return become companions that gather stories alongside us. They demand respect and I feel that respect increases their dearness to me.

The Common Thread

Looking back, these hobbies seem unrelated. but I don’t think they’re actually different hobbies at all. I think they’re expressions of the same instinct. They all reject the assumption that faster is automatically better and replace convenience with engagement. They all ask me to participate instead of passively consume.

College taught me how to optimize. It taught me how to work harder, move faster, and accomplish more than I ever thought possible and I’m incredibly grateful for that, but somewhere along the way I forgot that not every part of life should be optimized. Some moments deserve to be intentionally inefficient.

The extra ten minutes spent preparing tea. The album played from beginning to end. The careful morning shave. The dinner that takes all weekend to prepare and shop for. The film watched for the fifth time because you suspect it still has something left to say. The 5x5 solved without checking the clock. These moments are what to me brings a lot of meaning and fulfillment to the “boringness” of day to day life.