You Don’t Have a Hobby. You’re in an Era.

Somewhere between “That looks fun” and “This is who I am now,” we turned having hobbies into having eras.

I used to be a plant mom.

I wasn’t one of those people with two or three plants sitting around the house. I had a lot of them. I knew their names. I had opinions about sunlight. I probably said things like, “She’s not doing well over there,” about a plant that had absolutely no idea who I was.

I was in my plant era.

Then they died.

RIP, little guys.

Well, most of them. The basil at least made it into a sauce, so I’d argue we both got something out of the experience.

Then came my reading era. I read. I bought books. I made a TBR list that suggested I had significantly more free time than I actually do. For a while, reading was my thing. Each book even got its own personal Facebook Story dedication. Everyone needed to know, of course.

Now? My TBR list has come to a complete halt. I can practically feel my Goodreads app rolling its eyes at me.

And I’m just waiting.

Waiting for the next thing to come along and completely take over my personality for a while.

Because apparently, this is how we do hobbies now.

You can’t just like something. You have to become someone who likes it.

You try sourdough once, and boom, you’re a sourdough person. You take three Pilates classes, and you’re a Pilates girl. You go on one hike, and you’re outdoorsy now. You pick up pickleball, and before you know it, you’ve entered a pickleball era. You buy watercolor supplies and, congratulations, you’re an artist.

You go for a few runs. Now you’re a runner. And runners have their own reporting system. We all know how far you ran and your pace because there it is on your Instagram Story, courtesy of whatever running app everyone uses.

Then there’s the Cricut.

The Cricut era deserves its own category.

You bought one machine, and suddenly you were making personalized cups, signs, shirts, labels, gifts, things with names on them. You had vinyl. You had storage for the vinyl. You had very strong opinions about fonts.

But that’s what we do.

We don’t know how to casually like things anymore.

There is a very short distance between “That looks fun” and “This is who I am now.”

And I’m not judging.

I am literally writing this after a full-on plant-mom era.

And Then the Algorithm Finds Out

Now, maybe this would all be a bit more low-key if we didn’t have the internet cheering us on.

You pause on one video of someone named Ashley scoring a sourdough loaf.

That’s it.

You weren’t even looking for sourdough. You just wanted to see how she got that pretty pattern on top.

But you paused. And the algorithm noticed.

Now your feed is full of people feeding starters, choosing flour, explaining hydration ratios, and showing you how to get that perfect ear on your loaf.

And you know what? It’s kind of great.

Because you realize there are a whole lot of people who are also very interested in this extremely specific thing.

You aren’t alone.

here are people who will happily explain why your starter isn’t rising. There are people who have strong opinions about Dutch ovens. There are people with entire accounts devoted to their starters. They even name them.

Meet Debra.

You haven’t even made a loaf yet, but you’ve already found your people.

That’s part of the fun.

The internet can take the tiniest interest and hand you an entire world around it. And once you find that world, it’s pretty easy to start thinking, “Oh, I guess this is my thing.”

Which might explain why we love turning hobbies into identities so much.

There is something fun about saying, “I’m a reader,” instead of “I read a lot right now.” One sounds like a person. The other sounds like something you happen to be doing.

We like our categories.

They give us something to talk about and help us find people who are into the same things. They give us recommendations, communities, inside jokes, and inevitably, a bunch of things we didn’t know we needed until five minutes ago.

The hobby becomes a world.

And for a while, you live there.

Until you don’t.

The Graveyard of Former Eras

Of course, the funny thing about having so many eras is that eventually, something else catches your attention.

At some point, the Cricut finds its way back into the closet. The pickleball paddle gets lost in a pile with the rest of the sports stuff. The watercolor supplies go untouched. The running app goes suspiciously quiet. The plants aren’t exactly thriving. They’re in survival mode.

And my TBR list? She’s on life support.

But these things aren’t necessarily gone.

They’re more like former residents who still have a key.

And there’s something comforting about coming back to something you once loved. You already know the feeling. You remember why you got excited about it in the first place. You can pick it up again and feel right at home.

Your kid needs something labeled for school. In a matter of minutes, you’re digging through the closet for the Cricut you haven’t touched since approximately 2022.

You find it.

You find the vinyl.

You plug that baby in.

And before you know it, you’re channeling Mrs. Doubtfire and declaring, “HELP IS ON THE WAY, DEAR!”

And just like that, the Cricut era is back.

You make the label. Maybe you make a few more. Then the machine goes back into the closet.

You’re making your Thanksgiving menu and get to the last thing on the list.

Rolls.

“Wait a minute. I used to do this.”

So you make the rolls.

Then you move on.

Six months later, you walk into Barnes & Noble for “just one thing.” You leave with three books. There it is. Your reading era.

Or maybe you don’t do any of this.

The book stays on the list. The Cricut stays in the closet. The watercolor paints are still exactly where you left them.

That’s fine too.

There aren’t actually any rules.

You can pick something up, put it down, and circle back whenever you feel like it. You can have the same era twice. You can have five eras at once. You can decide you are completely done with something and then find yourself obsessed with it again three years later.

Who cares?

We can just…like things.

Things stick. Things fade. Things come back years later when you least expect them. Other things eventually end up on a yard sale table, waiting for someone else’s era.

That’s the funny thing about all these eras. They’re part of our journey, even if they don’t stick around.

Ma’am. You bought a basil plant. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We can just enjoy the basil.

I may be a retired plant mom right now.

But who’s to say?

There is a Lowe’s within driving distance. I know exactly where the gardening section is.