When I was growing up, everyone I knew had a hobby. Of course we didn’t call them that, but that’s what they were. For some of us it was soccer, or select soccer if you were really good, ice skating, or maybe Girl Scouts. For me, it was basketball. Most days after school I would make my way down to the shiny gym and find a bright orange basketball to bounce around for most of the evening. I wasn’t really good at basketball, and might have chosen the sport mostly for the pristine look of the wood floors, but I enjoyed it and that was all that mattered.
My family moved a lot of when I was growing up, and basketball allowed me to weasel my way into the friend group of each new city. Since I wasn’t worried about scoring baskets, I was able to devote plenty of time to socializing on the court and could usually befriend some of the players by the end of the season.
Basketball also gave me countless memories with my Dad, who was much more confident in my abilities than I was. We would stand in my driveway as he taught me how to throw a three-pointer, dribble past an opponent, or how to hold the ball correctly. His love for the game was evident, but what was even more evident was his love for me.
When I went to middle school, my skills weren’t quite good enough to make the basketball team. Apparently my ability to hold a conversation on the court was no longer seen as a vital component to team dynamics. I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt when I received the news. I had been playing since I could practically pick up a ball, and sure I had nothing to show for it skill wise, but I didn’t see why that had to matter. Basketball had given me so much more than just a place to show off my footwork. It was how I made friends, how I connected with my family, and how I worked off all the pizza rolls I liked to consume. When it was gone, I felt alone and confused, and now lacked a spot to get endorphins to help those feelings go away. Sixth grade was a dark time.
By the time I got to high school, I knew I needed to find a new hobby. Netflix wasn’t invented yet, and there were only so many episodes of Gilmore Girls I could record. That’s when I learned to play tennis. I still remember the day my mom took me out to the tennis court in our neighborhood and taught me how to throw the ball over my head for a serve. Luckily, I wasn’t awful at it, probably because it was harder to talk across a tennis court, and I was able to make my high school team. I played on the team for four years, and formed the friendships that carried me through my tumultuous high school career.
Although tennis is a sport that is often praised for its ability to be played well into adulthood, I had all but forgotten about it by the time I graduated college. When I moved to NYC after undergrad, I left my tennis rackets at home convincing myself that there would be no time to play. In some ways I was right, I filled my days with other activities and thanks to a hefty group of college friends who moved to the city, I was happy and busy.
When I moved back to my hometown, I was faced with the realization that all my friends were no longer around. After attempting to make new ones with casual small talk in random restaurants and bars, it suddenly became clear how much more difficult it would be to make friends as an adult. I decided to fall back on the one thing that had helped me make friends in the past and joined a co-ed tennis league. I was hoping to make just one acquaintance and ended up finding an entire group of new friends. This collection of people I loving refer to as “my tennis friends” has allowed me to see my city in a whole new light.
As the years go on, I find myself even more grateful for the friendships and opportunities my hobby has provided. Life gets busy, and sometimes the act of living it can feel like a hobby in itself. It’s easy to push tennis to the side in pursuit of my goals without realizing this hobby can help me achieve them. Or worst case scenario, it can provide an outlet to channel all the feelings that come when those goals aren’t met as fast as I might want them to be. While 2020 might be the year of the hustle, I’m here to say that it’s okay to also make time for a hobby that you enjoy. Maybe it’s tennis, or writing, or cooking, but whatever it is, I ask that you give it space and time to develop into something great. If you do, you just might find that sometimes hobbies are the things that can lead us to all the places we want to be.
Cloverandbelle 