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Archive for the ‘Hobbies’ Category

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My son has his first volleyball tournament recently. Even though his team didn’t win a match, making some nice plays still gave him a sense of satisfaction. He is competitive and doesn’t take losing well. The more he wants to win, the harder it is for him to control his temper and perform at his best. My hope is that as he matures, he will learn to see these moments as part of the process of improving and reaching his potential. Many people are competitive and want to win, but not everyone can manage their emotions, learn from setbacks, and bounce back stronger.

“Does losing prove that you are weak? Isn’t losing difficult for all of you? A challenge where, after ending up on your hands and knees, you must see if you can stand up again? If you stay on your hands and knees, that proves that you are weak.”
― Ittetsu Takeda

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Our family went to Bangkok for a one week trip. Since I lived there when I was young, I still have many friends in the city, and my nephew is studying there. My aim was simply to have a relaxed trip catching up with friends and family.

One predictable challenge in Thailand is overeating. The cost of living is lower, the food is good, and most of our meals were at restaurants with people we wanted to see. To avoid gaining too much weight, we brought our badminton gear and a basketball with us. That allowed us to stay active by playing sports, both on our own and with friends. Bangkok turned out to be convenient for this. Badminton courts were easy to book, and we found several basketball courts near where we stayed.

These activities cost almost nothing, but for one of my boys, they were the highlights of the trip. This reminded me that travel does not have to revolve around sightseeing. Bringing some of our normal routines with us, especially sports, made the trip healthier and more memorable. It allowed us to enjoy good food without feeling too guilty, while also creating simple moments of bonding through activities. I think this is something we will do more often in future trips.

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“Regardless how strong someone might appear, there are weaknesses. We might think of anxiety as a negative, but it’s something we all have. We get stronger if we act through it. Bearing the burden of anxiety and get stronger, isn’t it a bit like strength training?” —Hina

[While cycling to a cake shop]

Hina: Let’s disperse all stress!

Taiki to Hina: You have stress?

Hina: Stress when a friend got treated poorly.

Kyo: Me too, stress when a my close friend doesn’t treat himself well.

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“I don’t see that it makes any point that someone in the Swedish Academy decides that this work is noble enough to receive a prize. I’ve already got the prize. The prize is the pleasure of finding the thing out, the kick in the discovery, the observation that other people use it. Those are the real things. The honours are unreal to me.” — Richard Feynman

Kevin Kelly thinks we should live our most improbable life, because it has less competition, offers more unique rewards, and makes us harder to replace.

Here is what you gain with your most improbable life:

The authentic you. Your particular mix of talents, native abilities, personal inclinations, genetic limits, life experiences, and ambitious desires points to a mixture that is distinctly unique – if it is allowed to blossom. The further you move in that direction, the more you-like you become.

The more you-ish you become, the less competition you have, because you are occupying your own niche. Less competition means you don’t have to be in a race; you can relax and focus on your strengths. You have the space to become even more you, and even less likely.

The more you occupy a category of one, the easiest it is for you to appreciate this trait in others. It becomes easier to see past the conventional, to identify authenticity, and to encourage the improbable in others…

Finally, the less predictable you are, the less likely you are to be replaced by AIs. Machines are efficient, and they are powered by the predictable. Current LLMs are trained to generate the most predictable solution. So far they are not very good at duplicating what a creative, one-of-a-kind improbable human can produce. To distance yourself from the machines, aim to be as improbable as you can be.

But what if our interests are quite “average”? Or what if the unique combination of our interests and abilities is not valued by society?

One solution, as Sandeep Swadia suggests, is to consciously assess our interests and focus on those that reinforce what we do and benefit us in some way (for example, those that give us more optionality or stability). But doesn’t this planning framework contradict Kevin Kelly’s main idea by making the process more predictable?

I prefer another piece of Sandeep’s advice: focus on hobbies that bring us joy, help us learn, allow us to express ourselves, or connect with a community.

I’m fortunate enough not to have to worry too much about making a living. And as I’m in midlife, there is no excuse not to live more authentically. Time spent on my interests and hobbies is already a reward in itself. Anything else is a bonus.

For example, piano, drawing, basketball, and badminton may not be a rare combination in market terms. None of these hobbies is likely to make me irreplaceable in society. But together, they shape the kind of life I want to live. Piano gives me a way to connect with music and occasionally perform with my children and friends. Drawing helps me observe more carefully and express visual ideas. Basketball and badminton keep me active, competitive, and connected with others. In the end, perhaps living one’s most improbable life is not about being marketable or irreplaceable. It is about arranging life around the things that make us feel most alive and meaningful.

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I liked Mason Currey’s Daily Rituals, so I picked up this book about how various artists fund their creative lives. Like his previous book, it offers interesting glimpses into different artists’ lives and their attitudes toward money.

There is no single correct way to fund a creative life. Some people succeed by pursuing creative work on the side. Others need to devote themselves fully before they can make progress. And some people, without external constraints, end up wasting their time. Each of us has to find an arrangement that fits our personality and that we can live with.

Frugality helps as it provides more options. But for certain pursuits, such as professional sports and chess, age and timing also matter. I admire artists who give everything to creating art or mastering their craft. But a chaotic and uncertain life does not suit my temperament. So I chose to focus on building financial security first, before shifting more of my time toward hobbies in my late 30s and early 40s.

Overall, I think that choice has worked out well. The encouraging thing is that it is not too late to begin and improve at many artistic activities. And while I cannot compete in sports at a professional level, there are still enough opportunities to play with others. I can also enjoy simply practising on my own.

Excerpts:

This reader is someone powerfully drawn to a life in the arts and at the same time powerfully stumped by the difficulty of balancing those ambitions with the very real need to pay rent and put food in the fridge. Sure, there are some well-worn paths forward: Get a day job and do your creative work in your spare time. Go to graduate school and try to find a foothold in academia that encourages or at least tolerates your art-making practice. Pursue a sort-of-related career–journalism for writers, say, or graphic design for visual artists–and hope to channel your artistic impulses into this more financially secure profession. Find somewhere extremely affordable to live and get by on a little income as possible. Become a genius at applying for–and winning–grants, fellowships, residencies, retreats, contests, and other funding opportunities. Coax money out of your parents, acquire a patron, or attract a life partner who’s willing to subsidise your art. Or–most elusive of all–make your art pay, by tailoring it to the market place or somehow forcing the culture to come to you.

The dumb truth is that there is no cultural production without financial supports. It is simply not possible to become an accomplished painter or musician or novelist or pet without spending a lot of time experimenting, making false starts, starting over, starting over again, absorbing criticism, thinking, reading, talking, and mooning about the house aimlessly. All this time has to be purchased, one way or another.

Leonard [Virginia Woolf’s husband] writes: “Neither of us ever took a day’s holiday unless we were too ill to work or unless we went away on a regular and, as it were, authorised holiday. We should have felt it was not merely wrong but unpleasant not to work every morning for seven days a week and for about eleven months a year. Every morning, therefore, at about 9.30 after breakfast each of us, as if moved by a law of unquestioned nature, went off and “worked” until lunch at 1. It is surprising how much one can produce in a year, whether of buns or books or pots or pictures, if one works hard and professionally for three and a half hours every day for 330 days.

According to a personal secretary employed by the Ives family for a time, “Mr. Ives would come home from a strenuous day in the insurance business, have his meal, and then go [to] the piano and forget all about time until the wee small hours. He would be completely absorbed in his music.”

In truth, it’s not so easy to make one version of your art just for money and then pivot to the other version, the one you make without worrying about money and maybe even in defiance of it. Trying to do both things at once may prevent you from doing either of them well. And if you succeed at one, the world may not let you pivot to the other.

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It’s been a while since I prepared a meal for others. Back in university, a few friends and I had an informal cooking club, where each of us took turns cooking for the others every month. We took notes and documented our dishes and comments afterward. It was a good opportunity to get together with friends, try something new, and enjoy good food.

Recently, I decided to cook a meal for my family. When my boys said they wished there had been more food and wanted to eat my cooking regularly, I knew the meal was a success. While it’s satisfying to cook a nice meal and see others enjoy it, the opportunity costs are high. It took about two hours to prepare and cook, plus another one to two hours to plan and buy the ingredients. Since I don’t plan to become a chef, I think it’s something I’ll only do occasionally.

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I drew this back in 2023

Like many basketball players, I’ve dreamed of being able to dunk. But when I was younger, I never took that dream seriously. At 180 cm, it felt unrealistic. I wasn’t particularly athletic, and I couldn’t even touch the rim.

In recent years, as I became fitter, I started seeing videos of people shorter than me jumping high enough to dunk. Most were younger, but they showed me it was possible. So I made a bet with my boys that I would dunk a small ball within five years, before turning 45. They both bet against me, which only made me more motivated.

My first recorded attempt was in May 2023, when I still couldn’t touch the rim. From there, I added strength training, plyometrics, sprinting, and jump-specific work to my routine. It took about half a year to touch the rim, another year to dunk a small massage ball, and then I plateaued.

Training in my 40s has been tough. Work, travel, sickness, poor sleep, and life events all interrupted my progress. Recovery takes longer, and pushing too hard usually leads to knee pain. Progress was slow, uneven, and sometimes frustrating.

But this year, almost three years after I started, I finally dunked a size 1 basketball, and eventually a size 3 basketball. While it is not as cool as dunking a proper basketball in a game, it is good enough for me. I don’t want to risk injury chasing too much more, though a size 5 alley-oop dunk remains an optional next challenge.

My boys treated me to ice cream, and we also celebrated together at one of our go-to izakayas. This goal has little practical value for most people, but it gave me tremendous satisfaction. I’m happy to have finally fulfilled a childhood dream.

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