Un-Capitalizing Your Free Time
How a Wasted Afternoon Will Help You Find Your Will to Live
I’ve been hardcore fantasizing lately.
Not about sex, or money, or that outdoor movie theater I wanna build… but about hobbies.
I want some so badly I could cry into a Michael’s (US craft store chain) coupon.
The last time I had a real hobby, there were video rental stores + record shops in every city, and email was something you logged out of.
When I still believed SPF was optional + leggings were only for overweight people.
When I had only ONE chin, a tongue ring, and a whole collection of original Converse + Vans.
When my main food source was happy hour, and my favorite Saturday night was either a DNB night in San Francisco or a massive ocean-side bonfire in Santa Cruz.
That ME was really whole… and fun… and happy.
I think I’m trying to un-capitalize my free time like I did back then.
This ME (who just tried real golf for the first time) is sorta whole… pretty fun… and kinda happy… but I’m not just craving a project I can abandon halfway through with no consequences or guilt; I’m craving an avalanche of poorly executed, wildly impractical, deeply unnecessary + weird new starts.
Shit like:
Archery. I don’t trust a government that denies all UFO sightings, so I'm arming myself. This is how I plan to source dinner + settle disputes in my future commune.
Photography. I used to carry my digital camera around like it was an emotional support device… now that I have THREE chins… and a camera at arm’s reach, it doesn’t sound as appealing. Maybe if I learn how to use the 237 features on the iPhone camera, I can reduce my chins back down to ONE + get back into the photo frame of mind.
Becoming more self-sufficient. I want chickens, a rain barrel, and a smug AF expression that says, “I made these bagels myself, bitch.” I’m preparing for the position of leader + bread maker in the commune.
Knitting. I want to stab things repeatedly until they become a blanket or scarf. I mean, I might not be able to control most shit, but I can at least control a pretty ball of alpaca.
Shuffle dancing. Kinda like TikTok dances, but for people who hate TikTok but love dance. I daydream about busting out in a choreographed shuffle dance when we’re out in public and embarrassing whoever I can (my kid included... although he would probably join in).
Get some abs back. Not just for vain bathing suit-related reasons, but also to support the core strength necessary to carry 40-pound bags of garden soil without throwing out some part of my body I didn’t know could break.
Sign language. So I can express “I swear to god, child” using only my eyes + fingers because sometimes, you need to be able to threaten screen time with nothing but side-eyes + hand gestures.
Create rock-lined trails around my property. Because nothing says “I’m healing” like religiously arranging rocks into whimsical paths around your forest-filled property.
I keep craving hobbies like they’re going to save my life… and maybe they will. 🤷♀️
At a minimum, they’re my new litmus test.
If someone (whether it’s a friend, expert, coach, guru, coworker, or peer) doesn’t have any—like zero weird little things they do for no reason—we’re not on the same page.
I don’t care how inspiring… efficient… or successful the internet considers you; if you haven’t stayed up late trying to salvage a 3-arm sweater or rearranging rocks so they line up with the solstices, we don’t believe in the same kind of freedom.
Dumb, ordinary, arguably useless joy is what I’m after now.
The really unprofitable kind.
I just can’t shake the feeling that hobbies are actually the secret to the kind of success we’re after.
Here’s my working theory:
The more hobbies we have (a.k.a., real, fun, feel-good shit we don’t have to be good at), the less bullshit we tolerate.
It’s like, it feels so good researching ways to use your smoker or learning how to build birdhouses that someone would have to pry this pure joy out of your cold, dead hands before you’d replace it with what an algorithm (or anyone else) thinks you should do.
It’s like, who cares about industry norms + unsolicited opinions when you’re on the verge of finishing a lawn art masterpiece titled “Capitalism Can Suck My Driveway”?
That’s who I want to be.
Someone with so many hobbies, they forget to respond to emails but always have a hilarious story to tell you to make up for it.
Someone who hangs out in the garden long enough to feel sun-drunk + dirt-happy. Every. Single. DAY!
Someone who’s too deep mastering a new shuffle dance routine to take a single goddamn thing too seriously.
Someone who sees a documentary about wife-carrying and thinks, “Fuck it. I’d get married for the sport.”
Someone who can’t make the meeting because she’s busy learning to cut miter edges. Alone. In the garage. With wine (safety concern #1).
Because hobbies make us whole.
They give us the space to be ridiculous.
To try things we don’t have to be good at, without the pressure to strategize, optimize, or monetize it for click rate.
To fall in love with being a beginner again, without shame or deadlines.
To waste time in the most beautifully “useless” fucking ways.
I don’t know what I’m gonna try first.
Maybe it’ll be the shuffle dancing.
Maybe it’ll be the sign language.
Maybe it’ll be something more unhinged + random, like strip pickleball or upcycling roadside garbage.
Whatever it is… it won’t prove shit about my worth.
It’ll just be a thing I do because it’s fun + feels good, like the lil’ joy addict who needs her hobby hit that I am.
I double dog dare YOU to get weird and do something wildly unprofitable just because you want to. Bonus points if you wear accessories and/or an apron for the full experience.
It only counts if you let fun be the whole point. 🌭
To healing by way of rocks, threats, and dance battles,
Dre ‘Backwoods Joy Addict’ Beltrami
Founder, This Mustard-Stained Playground
Gangster, The Entire Internet (Since 2014)
Beer Hater, No Matter How It's Brewed (Since 1979)
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⚡️ Throw f-bombs around like confetti
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⚡️ Swear off niching
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⚡️ Build a solopreneur life that doesn’t require recovery
⚡️ Be wildly visible + deeply private at the same time
⚡️ Leave money on the table if it costs you your joy
⚡️ Slow down, so your soul can catch up
⚡️ Choose depth over dopamine
⚡️ Measure success in freedom, not followers
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Well, hey there, internet stranger… soon to be kindred? Maybe? Possible Well, see soon enough. 🤷♀️
I’m Dre Beltrami, the OG of Personal Branding Leaving A Paper Trail for Weirdos to Find You. I write with a middle finger that's 90% intuition, 10% spite, and 0% respect for industry norms. Expect rants, rebellion, and business moves so feral they come with a confetti cannon. 🥳
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Here’s some real feral shit you might have missed:
101 Tiny, Ridiculous Ways To Heal From Hustle Culture
10 Personality Bombs For Your Newsletter
10 Joy-Hits to Make Your Content Instantly More YOU
10 Ways to Write Like YOU Without the Fear, the Filter, or the Factory Programming
The Outlaw’s Field Notes On Fun, Feel-Good Sales + Marketing
The Magician’s Field Notes On Fun, Feel-Good Sales + Marketing
The "Next Door's" Field Notes On Fun, Feel-Good Sales + Marketing
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The last few years in the spring I’ve had a few tons of rock delivered to our driveway. Then I spend hours and days hauling them down the hill to our backyard and spreading them. It is glorious.
Some people were born to do great things. Apparently I was born to do manual labor.
Everything you wrote here reminds me of a ME I used to be. I used to paint walls and decorate in every new home I moved to. I used to buy shitty garage sale furniture just to experiment with refinishing. I used to have a horse JUST TO RIDE IT in a field....not to be all fancy and learn show jumping, etc.
I support your hobby mission!!