I still remember my friends giving me the advice: Try something new. I was stressed and, of course, also on my phone too much. I was writing about food for work, so cooking didn't really count as a hobby anymore, nor did reading, nor socializing, especially since all of my friends worked in my industry. I needed something in my life that existed apart from all that.
"Maybe something you can do with your hands." The suggestion felt like an escape exit: Maybe a hobby could free me from my work. Cooking had once been the thing I did to relax when I got home from work, the thing I was curious about, and the thing that made my brain away from its standard complaints. The kitchen had once been a release, but now it was part of my professional life. It needed a replacement.
A few months later, I dutifully signed up for a ceramics (制陶艺术) class at a studio near my apartment.
At the studio, I started as a lazy learner, but after a few months I became addicted, signing up for more classes when my term ended. I had a place to go in my free time and something to be curious about, and my goals were unrelated to outer forces: a boss, a job, a market, a reader. Unlike with writing, my progress was quantifiable (可量化的): Now I can make a vase this tall. Now I have made a pot. Now my handles are beautiful. Now I have made two things that more or less look like a pair.
Finally finding a hobby that was just for my own enjoyment was a release. I enjoy having something to do that didn't involve a screen and therefore felt far from the style of work to which I was most accustomed – hands covered in clay cannot swipe (滑屏) very well. Making time for this also means carving out time, for creation and inspiration, and also for the rest that is required for me to reflect on my life. It is something more than a new hobby. This is the peace that everyone needs in our life.
