Corona Diaries: Serial Hobbyist
27/01/2021
When I was younger I thought I’d one day be a West End musical performer. I avidly watched musicals both on TV and at the theatre, singing along until a parent firmly elbowed me. I saw myself front and centre, belting out ballads and showstoppers, whipping up the same fervour in the audience that I felt while watching. I’d been told over and over again to anticipate rejection and to grow a thick skin so I was very successful at tuning out my family’s suggestions (both gentle and forthright) that singing and dancing may not be my forte. You can’t say I wasn’t committed. One Summer I attended a week long musical theatre camp and spent the lunch breaks working on the dances with the teacher simply so I could keep up with the rest of my (actually talented) classmates. Even during the end of week show, when I struggled to remember the order of the steps and twirled in the opposite direction to everyone else, I absolutely believed that I would one day overcome both my dyspraxia and inability to harmonise by the time I was ready to start my career. Spoiler alert: I did not.
Nowadays I write, tell stories and - sometimes - act a little. However, singing and dancing are not on the table. And that’s okay. In fact I rarely think about that pipe dream. During lockdown though the memories came rushing back to me as I sweated my way through various YouTube workouts. It was when I was stumbling over Pamela Reif’s Christmas Dance Workout a few weeks ago, trying in vain to get my arms and legs to co-operate in maintaining some sort of rhythm, that I laughed out loud at my youthful dreams of Liza Minelli-esque stardom.
The next moment I realised something else. Usually, for me, working out means boxing or karate or HIIT classes in the gym. Never dance. Because I’m bad at dance right? But at that moment, flailing around my sitting room and laughing at myself, I was having so much fun. I definitely wasn’t good at it, that’s true. Now and again I might impress myself with a well-timed hip thrust or twirl, but it’s fair to say it’s not something that’s generally pleasant to watch. Still though, for weeks now it’s what I’ve turned to for exercise and it’s been great fun.
There’s that Vonnegut story about the time someone encouraged him to do things for fun rather than out of a need to be ‘good’ at them that a bunch of people (yes, probably skewed towards those with stay-at-home jobs and disposable income) have been citing as inspiration for the lovely epiphany they’re having in the middle of this terrible year (or so) that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. And I’m another one doing that right now.
“And that honestly changed my life. Because I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could ‘win’ at them.”
- Kurt Vonnegut
He’s right, you know. I haven’t done anything ‘dancy’ for years because of my horrific skills or lack thereof. It wasn’t for me. In the real world, from time to time, I had attended the odd class, Zumba perhaps or Barre or Zumbarre or whatever horrendous mash up an overenthusiastic gym bunny was trying to make ‘a thing’. It was always humiliating and I always left feeling worse about myself. But here at home I’m not competing with anyone and no-one can see me. It doesn’t matter that I’m pure shit at this. It’s not really about that. And that also goes for loads of stuff I’ve found myself doing during lockdown. I’m usually surrounded by talented thespians, musicians, artists and - now that I no longer label myself as one of them - I’m embarrassed to give anything a go when I’m going to fall so short. You’re either a pro or an amateur, and I didn’t want to be ‘amateur’.
But the isolation of this year has at least set me free to stop worrying about others think and instead to fill my shapeless days with having a fair crack at things I’m often quite bad at. So far I’ve painted a watercolour giraffe with a noble (if slightly oddly shaped) face, made a vat of wine with a strongly musty smell, knitted a scarf full of holes that I still haven’t worked out how to cast off, hosted a podcast that I like even while I make myself cringe and taken up embroidery (which I’m not 100% terrible at!). Some might be one-offs but I mostly had fun having a go at them. Others might be here to stay. I’m already thinking about how good I might get at embroidery, ordering bits of fabric and downloading pdf patterns. I want to get better at it. So, I might end up opening an Etsy shop of incredible designs but it’s more likely I’ll just send you sub-par crafts for your birthday gift. And either way is fine.