In my teens writing was a hobby. I carried a notebook with me where ever I went and wrote poems as they struck me. Some days I might write half a dozen poems and some days or weeks I'd write none. It didn't really matter. I wrote when I enjoyed it and I enjoyed what I wrote.
In my twenties, writing was a dream. I wanted to be a professional writer, but I wasn't sure what kind. I only knew that I wasn't a professional writer, and I couldn't really enjoy writing as a hobby anymore either. I suffered (in my mind) a lot.
In my thirties, I became a published children's book author. I learned to enjoy writing again. But it's still no longer a hobby. It's work, and I do it everyday, even when I don't enjoy it. And I LOVE this. But I miss having a hobby. A creative hobby.
So I'm thinking of taking up knitting. Something I can do when the mood strikes, but don't have to do if I don't feel like it. My mother is an accomplished knitter, and I've already put in the request for lessons over Thanksgiving. Like millions of knitters before me, I'm sure my first project will be a scarf. I'll let you know how it goes.