I got my ham license at 13, and was an active ham for a year or two, using a fine National NCX-3 radio that hummed loudly with each key tap and made the lights dim.
Then my mom pressured me to give it up when the neighbors all started complaining.
Now if only I could trade in my Gibson L4 on a used Bridgeport mill, I’d be truly happy. Then I’d trade in other guitars on a gently used lathe and it would be perfect.
I totally agree with you on CNC–I have never used a CNC machine tool, but can’t imagine having a computer make my part when I could be standing in front of the Bridgeport smoothly turning those familiar crank handles as a piece of aluminum turns into something cool. Yes, I dream frequently of those machinist days from my checkered past.
But how would I ever get the thing in the basement? They weigh a few thousand pounds!
Oh well.
You do the drums and I’ll get the bass. We just need the right folks on the other instruments and we’ll be happy, perhaps not stellar, but happy nonetheless.
About 12 years ago I decided I wanted to try my hand at wheelchair racing. I acquired a used racing chair and trained for and competed in a 10 mile race.
For one thing, I was at an inherent disadvantage due to the fact that I still had feeling in all of my lower body. Since I have full feeling, I could not get my body into the necessary position for using a standard racing chair, so I had to use an alternate design. This design allowed me to get into and use the chair but it sacrificed some speed.
I did it because I wanted to compete. In something. But racing was and is not for me. I’ve had a much more meaningful experience with wheelchair bodybuilding.
A number of years ago, my older brother found a wooden boat in need of restoration he wanted to buy, and convinced me to go halves with him. It was a cool little runabout, and I was mainly interested in getting it finished so I could go boating and tubing.
Worked on it on weekends in my brother’s garage, who lives two hours away. Felt like a big time sacrifice, ditching my wife on weekends after working long hours. I didn’t find the process fun, just yet more work. Plus my brother had delusions of achieving some sort of showpiece, and I just wanted it done. At the time, I didn’t realize how much in general he is motivated by just tinkering with stuff, with little drive for completion.
A year later, I started grad school and washed my hands of it. It’s like 9 years later now, and he’s still tinkering with the stupid boat. Filling half his garage, next to the project car that will also never be done.
Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
ive been in a ton of those with people and most people are in it for 2 reasons … 1 to endlessly tinker or two to make as much cash as possible … I decided I didn’t like either side …
Guitar: At best, I could play the notes… but not the music, if you know what I mean.
Most of the time I couldn’t play the notes, either.
Video Games: Told this story many times, but was playing Civilization 3 one night and quit my game - it told me that I have spent 37 hours playing this one game, and I realized I was about 1/4 of the way through it… and I didn’t want to spend so much time anymore figuring out how to beat somebody’s rule set without profit.
When I was in my late teens I made a special trip into the city and bought a super 8 movie camera and plunger thing so I could do stop motion animation. I now have a great appreciation for animators of all stripes because good lord that was tedious.
This thread has really got me thinking. I am in the process of giving up an obsession of over 20 years because I have become obsessed with something else. I find myself resenting every minute that anyone steals from me that I could be spending writing my novel. Lately I have been plotting my exits from several social commitments I have had for some time now. I even entertain ways I can end my current relationship. I feel like I don’t want anyone talking to me, making my phone ring, or even reading anything that changes my train of thought.
I seem powerless over these types of thought because I know they can't be healthy but I can't seem to help it. I wish I could just tell everyone to leave me alone for about 1 year and then I would be ready to move on.
My husband has raging OCD and will hurl himself into a hobby in a fruitless attempt at amusement, or battling ennui, and buy every. single. item. related to that hobby. The more he spends, the faster it seems, ‘eh, I don’t think I like doing this any more.’ Right now, it’s model airplanes. HUNDREDS of dollars spent on the planes, the paints, books about model airplanes, wood and metal to make stands to display them, shellac to coat the finished plane. I anticipate a slowdown followed by grinding to a complete halt by the end of the year. Either that, or we will have an actual model airplane museum in the spare room.
Years ago I joined a Scrabble club (not an expensive hobby, clearly) and I used to play regularly. I got to the point where I could consistently beat all of the casual players, but I’d have to start memorizing word lists to beat the hardcore players. That sounded way to much like tedious work to me, so I gave up on it. At this point, I haven’t played it in years.
I have been through the hobby thing as well, like pretty much everybody at some point. Models and stamp-collecting as a kid; other common enough stuff as an adult.
As a result I have three theories, which are mine, made by me (pace Ann Elk).
My first theory is the adolescence theory. I suspect there is stage of development that allows an important aspect of the imaginational component of obsessive hobbying that just aggressively fades around adolescence. And I don’t think its just displacement by intrusive sexual thoughts. You just seem no longer to be able to understand the excitement any more, independently of whether or not you also have lots of other thoughts about the other sex.
Second I call the golf club theory. I seem to have the capacity for intense interest in a hobby right up until the moment I decide that it is worth investing in. As soon as I invest (by, say, buying expensive clubs) the interest just evaporates. No idea why, but it might be related to my third theory.
Alternatively, it may be that hobby interests for any individual have a shelf-life that the individual hobbyist fails to notice. The hobby’s interest curve continues upwards but has a sharp drop off at the end; an absence of insight into the cyclic nature of an individual’s curve means that they buy at the peak of the curve without seeing that there will shortly be a collapse.
My third theory I call the availability theory. Suppose you like a movie (let’s say It’s a Wonderful Life). It comes on TV at irregular intervals, and every time it does, you watch it, because it might be ages before it comes on again. You watch it and love it enough that you finally decide to buy the DVD so you can watch it whenever your want. Buy that sucker and you will never see Zuzu’s petals ever again. When it comes on TV you will watch something else because you know you have the DVD. When you think about watching the DVD, you do something else because you tell yourself you can watch the DVD anytime. But you never do.
Earlier this year, the thought struck me that I would really like still-water kayaking. Great exercise. In my mind, it seemed ideal. I looked around and obsessively researched kayaks without ever having kayaked (messed about in boats a little in the past, though). Got very absorbed in imagining where I could go and what it would be like. Couldn’t imagine NOT buying a kayak in the near future.
Then something cropped up that acted as a circuit breaker that distracted my attention for a little while. The hunger for the hobby completely disappeared. I scratch my head and wonder what the hell I was thinking. I am grateful that I did not actually spend money on the thing because it would right now be a very expensive dust collecter hanging in the car-hole.
I guess the reality of the hobby and of humping a kayak to and from a water course and all the little fiddly things you have to do and the sweatiness and exhaustion and sore muscles eventually overtakes what is essentially a fantasy about all the things you imagine you can do.
Part of the fun of a hobby is being prepared to continue to be open to imagining the fun you are having while you are actually doing the hobby itself. When that real-time imaginative function fails, the hobby looks like a pile of junk.
I always enjoyed wood carving, and I got okay at it.
What I found was the secret, as a hobbyist, was to not force the carving. What I mean was, you had to look at a specific piece of wood, and see what it already sort of looked like; then in carving it, just make it look more like it already looked, using the features of the wood to your advantage.
I was never able or willing to take a block of wood and make it look like a bird, because I wanted a bird. I would take a piece of wood, turn it over and over, and see what it could be. Maybe that was a bird, maybe something totally different. It had to already be there.
I don’t know about this- I didn’t have any all-consuming obsessive childhood hobbies- just stuff that I outgrew- rock collecting, being a huge NASA/space program wonk, etc…
What happened to me is that with the advent of adolescence, my time suddenly became much more valuable. I don’t mean that I had adult-with-kids level time constraints, but that relative to childhood, I had more chores, more activities, more homework, etc… and the time wasn’t there to indulge in things that were relatively low payoff relative to the time invested.
[quote=“Noel_Prosequi, post:52, topic:760718”]
Second I call the golf club theory. I seem to have the capacity for intense interest in a hobby right up until the moment I decide that it is worth investing in. As soon as I invest (by, say, buying expensive clubs) the interest just evaporates. No idea why, but it might be related to my third theory.
I like to think of it as the theory vs. practice conception of hobbies. Lots of them are a lot cooler in theory and in fantasy than in reality. All the gear, all the technique, all the innovation, etc… is fascinating and interesting, but when it comes down to actually doing it, it turns out to be a huge beating in terms of money, time and trouble. So far, I’ve been able to allay my urge to get into amateur astronomy by just reading up on it avidly, and then not being willing to pull the trigger on a reasonably capable telescope. Other times, it might be a distraction that sort of short-circuits the interest.
Sometimes I do pull the trigger, and find out that, no, I wasn’t that interested after all. I mean, I understand how to use a SLR camera just fine (digital or film), and understand things like exposure, depth of field, focal ratio, etc… but just don’t have that artistic eye or drive that seems to drive hobby photographers, and it took me spending several hundred dollars on equipment and grinding at it to realize that. I suspect that having that stuff around keeps the hobby urge from popping back up at intervals- it’s like a reminder that I’m not a photographer, and that I don’t have the eye for it.
What I don’t understand is the (IMO) crazy obsessions some people have with hobbies- when they go from being something of a leisure time activity to being a lifestyle and obsession.
I mean, it’s one thing to spend a few hundred bucks on a telescope, and occasionally go to star parties or out into the hinterlands where it’s dark to see stuff. But it’s another thing altogether to grind your own 20" mirror blank, or to spend tens of thousands of dollars on equipment and spend every minute of vacation time doing astronomy-related stuff. (or scuba, or home brewing, or R/C airplanes, etc…)
I homebrew a bit, and I think I would do it more if I had a dedicated place in my house to do it (with a sink and everything), but I don’t. Also, it seems like every time I get ready to brew a batch I find that I’m missing some crucial part or ingredient, without which I either can’t do it or it’s going to be a giant pain in the ass, and since I live two hours from a homebrew store, I have to put everything off and order it. No matter how much prep I do–make lists, etc.–this always seems to happen. So I don’t do it very much anymore.
I’ve abandoned a few hobbies over the years, but I can’t say that I ended up disliking any of them (with the possible exception of reading Stephen King novels).
I used to be an electronics hobbyist, but then digital stuff came along, and anything I could build I could just buy in the store better and cheaper.
As I’ve gotten older, skiing has become a more finely tuned balance between the joy of flying down the slopes and the hassle of getting up early, driving for hours, paying for tickets, and schlepping around skis, boots, poles and assorted cold weather gear.
I have pretty much stopped geocaching, partly because I had exhausted a lot of the local caches and partly because people stopped trying and the caches are now just waterlogged tupperware filled with damp dinosaur stickers or boring microcaches. Also, I live in one of the more mosquito intensive areas of the world, so the summer is not necessarily a fun time to be mucking around in the woods presenting a target to the bloodsuckers. Also, recording the caches seems a bit too much like homework – this might change if I ever get a smart phone with a caching application.
I got into home sodas (mixing flavors, yeasting, fermenting, etc) but at the end of the day it was messy smelly labor with little payoff. I’m ending up the same way with winemaking, I’m now dreading the whole pick/crush/ferment/bottle labor that only leads to a short tasting payoff.
I was a member of Toastmasters for about three years. It was fun, the club was friendly and vibrant, I was president for one of the years. I just lost interest in it. I did reach ALB and ACB*, but never felt the desire to go beyond that.
*Advanced Leader Bronze and Advanced Communicator Bronze