I didn’t think I had any hobbies. I’ve been pushing myself to try to find things to do that resonate for me and help me feel a better sense of self. Why is it so hard? Why does nothing seem to stick? Why don’t I know who I am? Over the holidays I was alone and the time allowed me to just be. It was a welcome and much needed cadence for the new year. And I’m only coming to realize I do have interests and hobbies, I guess I wasn’t able to acknowledge them because I have always judged myself to not be good enough. If I could just find that one thing, maybe everything would click and I would makes sense. Only in the past few weeks has something become apparent to me. Not everyone collects notebooks or specifically seeks out having a typewriter as a kid, and feeling a thrill each time GS publishes something you write. Not everyone does these things. I never understood when I met authors why they’d always ask, “Do you write?”. I’ve always assumed that everybody writes. Do you? Maybe writing is my hobby.