When was the last time you created just for fun? I mean, seriously—when you made something simply because it brought you joy, without expecting it to turn into anything or be “good.” These days, creativity is often judged by its productivity rather than its meaning. How good does it look on the feed? How many likes did it get? Could it become a side hustle? We forgot that not every photograph, sketch, or poem needs an audience. Some things can exist quietly and joyfully, and that’s more than enough recognition.
When did every hobby become a hustle?
As someone who runs a small cupcake business back home, I often think about this.
Baking has always been my thing, my escape, my happy place. But in 2020, I turned my love of baking into a business. Don’t get me wrong—I love what I do—but suddenly I started judging my personal success by revenue, engagement, and feedback. Somewhere along the way, my kitchen shifted from a creative space to a workspace. So, this year, I set out to rediscover the quiet joy of baking. For me, that meant experimenting with flavors and curating cupcake displays without worrying if they “matched the feed.” For others, it might be learning to paint, starting a journal, or writing poetry just because it feels good. Whatever that looks like for you, that quiet joy of creating, without the pressure to perform, is something we all need more of.
You don’t have to be good to enjoy it
I will be the first to say it: I suck at painting. This past week, like most people, I went to a few pumpkin painting events around Grounds. Every time I sat down to do so, I tried so hard to recreate those cute, aesthetic Pinterest pumpkins I saw all over my feed. I had the inspo photo propped up for reference, my paints lined up, and before I knew it, I was focused on perfection rather than fun. I realized by pumpkin number three that I had completely lost the plot. I was so focused on straight lines and tiny details that I missed out on just enjoying the creative process.
That’s the tricky thing about creativity—we want it to look good so badly that we forget it’s okay if it ends up looking… how do I put it… a little unique. You don’t need to be a fantastic artist or have excellent technique to have fun. Sometimes, the most abstract, messy, and imperfect creations are the best reminders of what joy, in all its forms, can look like.
The hidden therapy of hobbies
Over the summer, I started journaling again. Nothing crazy, just a few pages of random thoughts, sketches, and goals to look forward to. Now that I’m back at school, I definitely don’t journal as much as I’d like to. The reality is, I’m too busy. Still, whenever I do set aside ten minutes to write or draw, I feel grounded again. It serves as a small pocket of peace amid the chaos of college life.
That’s the beautiful thing about hobbies, though. They don’t ask for much, but they remind us to slow down. It can be something as simple as journaling, knitting, drawing, or baking something just because you want to. The point here is that hobbies are fun, especially when they belong entirely to you. So who cares if you only find time to knit every few months, or if you haven’t picked up a paintbrush in over a year? Take up the little things that make you feel at peace, creative, and alive—because we all deserve a hobby that exists just for us.
Protecting the quiet Joy
I’ll be real—I love posting my cupcakes on Instagram and updating my TikTok friends with little daily vlogs just as much as the next person. I find that sharing creative things that bring me happiness to be genuinely fun and fulfilling. However, I’ve recently come to realize the importance of striking a balance between creativity and content. Not everything you proudly create needs to be filmed, posted, or shared with the world.
There’s something really special about keeping a part of your life just for you. Maybe that’s baking for your roommates, documenting moments in photographs and videos that never leave your camera roll, or jotting down a thought in a journal you’ll opt to never read again. That’s the kind of quiet joy that is worth protecting—the act of creating for yourself, not for the likes or the feed, but simply because it brings you peace.
So create something, even if it’s messy. Make that new recipe you saved, write the poem you’ve been putting off, paint the pumpkin even if it looks nothing like the Pinterest inspo. Let it be imperfect, but most importantly, let it be yours. Take the pressure off creating—there is always room for joy. So, find your version of quiet joy, protect it, return to it, and keep creating.