Gloriously Unproductive

In defense of hobbies that don’t need to become side hustles

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what hobbies are actually supposed to do for us.

Weren’t they once the things we turned to when our reservoirs were running a little low? The things that got us out of our heads, put our hands to work, gave us something new to learn, or simply made an afternoon more enjoyable? Somewhere along the way, it feels like we started asking our hobbies to do something else entirely: be productive.

Suddenly, it isn’t enough to bake the bread—you should sell it. If you paint, perhaps you should take commissions. If you sew, open the shop. If you love books, review them. If you’re particularly good at a hobby, surely there must be a way to turn it into a side hustle.

And I understand the temptation. There is something exciting about creating something people value enough to pay for. But I’ve started wondering when the things that were meant to refill our reservoirs became another thing draining them.

Maybe we’ve gotten this a little upside down.

I’ve written before about being a bit of a hobby collector, and I think part of the reason I collect them is because I genuinely love being a beginner. I like learning something new, falling down a rabbit hole and slowly realizing just how much I don’t know. I’ve also spent years practicing mindfulness—and I use the word practicing very intentionally because I am certainly no expert at that either. I still have to remind myself to be where my feet are, to actually experience the thing I’m doing instead of mentally moving on to whatever comes next.

Over the last few years, I’ve tried to take that more seriously. I’ve slowed down. I’ve become more intentional about eliminating some of the rat-race activities that leave me anxious and physically feeling the effects of being stretched too thin. I’ve realized I don’t need to constantly be going somewhere or doing something to have a full life.

I actually really love being home.

I love slowly building the home and escape I’ve dreamed about. I love gardening, reading, baking bread, learning strange new things and collecting hobbies simply because they make my life more interesting. I don’t need to become an expert at all of them. And maybe, more importantly, I don’t need all of them to become something more.

Which brings me to fly fishing.

One of the things I put on my Autumn Curriculum was taking Fly Fishing 201 through my beloved Chagrin River Outfitters. I recently checked that one off the syllabus when I attended the class at the trout club—which I am now very proudly a member of. I may very well be the only female primary member, which I find both hilarious and kind of fabulous.

And for those hours, I got to simply learn more about something I already love.

The more I learn about fly fishing, the more I realize I could probably spend the rest of my life doing it and still have things to learn. Different rods, rigs and casts. Different techniques for different water and species. Different flies and presentations. There is an almost ridiculous amount of knowledge hiding beneath something that, from the riverbank, can look rather simple.

I particularly love streamer fishing for trout. There’s something thrilling about watching a fish chase. But then there’s dry-fly fishing—the anticipation of watching your fly drift across the surface and suddenly seeing a fish rise. Brown trout, brook trout, the elusive palomino… every style seems to open another little door into the same hobby.

I doubt I’ll ever be an expert at any one of them.

And I’m beginning to think that’s rather the point.

There is no Fly Fishing Incorporated in my future. I don’t need to turn my time on the water into a revenue stream. I don’t need to optimize it, become an authority on it, or immediately figure out how to turn what I’ve learned into something I can sell.

Sometimes I can just go fishing.

And maybe that’s something I want to protect a little more fiercely.

Of course, there are things I love that I do choose to build upon. The Bougie Brunette is one of them. I use affiliate links. I’m creating things for the site. I’m even preparing to invite you into a slightly secret little project I’ve been working on. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with allowing creativity to occasionally become commerce.

I just don’t want commerce to become the requirement for creativity.

Maybe that’s the distinction I’ve been looking for.

A hobby doesn’t have to earn its keep. It can be inefficient. It can take years to learn. You can be mediocre at it. You can spend an entire afternoon doing it and have absolutely nothing tangible to show for those hours.

Except, perhaps, a fuller reservoir.

So this autumn, I’m trying to leave a few things gloriously unproductive.

I’ll read the book without needing to review it. I’ll cast the fly without needing to master it. I’ll make the basket without opening a basket shop. I’ll keep practicing mindfulness without ever mastering that either.

Some hobbies don’t need a business plan. Some don’t need an audience. And some certainly don’t need to become another thing on our already-too-long list of things we’re supposed to be accomplishing.

Sometimes they just need the time and space to unfold slowly, peacefully and without expectation—preferably, in my case, while standing in a quiet stretch of water with a fly rod in my hand.

Some things can simply be ours because we enjoy them.

And I think that’s more than enough. 🎣✨