Blogging · nonfiction

Get A Hobby!

Have you ever told someone that they need a hobby? Or have you heard someone say ‘that person needs a hobby!’? More than likely they said that because they or the other person were down, depressed, or mentally exhausted or exhaustive.

The idea behind having a hobby is to relax and spend some quality time with themselves, or even as a group activity that you do with people you enjoy being around.

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So what counts as a hobby? A hobby can be any activity done regularly during spare or leisure time for pleasure. Whether you do something creative, athletic, academic, or something more individualized, what really matters is that it is something you find meaningful and enjoyable. Hobbies can range from spending quiet time alone, visiting or eating with others, communing with nature, playing sports, and even vacationing. When we dedicate time to voluntarily engage in pleasurable activities, research shows our mental health can flourish.

But I don’t have time!

That is something I hear a lot and I’ve even said a few times. In a world that glorifies work and/or studying so many people think they have no time for a hobby. There are however a few things you can change to find that ever-elusive time!

Rather than trying to find ‘hobby time’ every day, try thinking of time in weeks to discover extra time hidden in your schedule. Dedicate a few hours to something you enjoy each week. Still struggling to find time for fun? Take a step back and say ‘no’ (or delegate) to lighten your load and make space for hobbies.

There are many times during the day we may find ourselves in autopilot mode. It’s easy to lose track of time doing mindless things like checking social media or watching television. Tune in to how you’re spending downtime, whether it’s in the morning or evening, and consider how you might use that time to indulge in something you enjoy.

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So, start a new hobby or get back to an old one. The extra benefits are great! Your mental and physical well-being will improve so much.

For instance, you will reduce stress. Just doing something you enjoy (you don’t have to be an expert at it) helps you relax. You will also enhance your overall feeling of well-being.

If you are more extroverted join group activities. Doing a hobby doesn’t have to be something you do alone. Find other people or groups that enjoy doing what you do. You just might find yourself with some new friends which is a bonus!

Maybe your hobby can be done out in nature. Talk walks, hikes, alone or in a group. Nature has always been known for its healing and stress-relieving abilities. As little as ten minutes out in nature can lead to improved mood, focus, and overall wellbeing.

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A hobby doesn’t have to be expensive. Taking a walk in nature, or visiting a library to find a book that you enjoy, even museums are usually free to get in. Maybe meditate or do yoga, or something else physical. I bet if you really thought about it you could find a dozen things to do for little to no money.

The important thing is to find something that helps you lead a life that is less stressful. You’ll thank yourself later.

His Days (about the husband) · Mi Vida Loca · nonfiction · postaday · Stories of my life

One of His Bad Days

oldmansil

 

I’ve just finished putting my hair in its usual hassle free ponytail when I hear a crash in the living room. It’s followed by a loud moan. I hurry out of the room to find him laying on the floor, no cane to be seen.

I bend over him and ask him if he hurt anything. No, he moans. I reach for and grab one arm, gently as I can, I lift him to his feet. It’s easily done, the lifting of him. Too easy for a man who is 5′ 11. I shouldn’t be able to lift him I think to myself, as I slowly lead him back to his bed. I’m only 5 feet tall, I should have a harder time lifting him off the floor. But I don’t.

He sits on the side of the bed and I look him over, making sure he hasn’t hurt anything. I see some bleeding on one arm and take a closer look. Just a scratch, but the blood is dripping down his arm, so I grab a tissue to put over it to staunch the blood. He bleeds so easily now. The slightest bump, scratch or nick brings blood and later a bruise. His medicine’s fault.

I ask him what happened. He tells me in his gravelly voice that he only needed to use the bathroom. He was on his way back when he tripped over the rug and fell. Where is your cane, I ask him. He forgot it in the bathroom. I go and get it and put it next to his bed where he can reach it.

It is the start of a bad day.

I’m in my office, working on the computer when I hear a crash come from the kitchen. Oh no! Not again! I rush down the hallway and turn the corner to the kitchen and find him on his back on the floor, his head against a cabinet door. He is trying to turn over on his knees, but can’t seem to do so. I put my hand out so he can grab it and once again, lift him to his feet.

He is angry. At himself. He was reaching into the fridge for a drink when he lost his balance and just fell backwards he tells me. He angrily asks why can’t he just stand up without falling?! I look into his dilated eyes, they are huge with the effects of his pain drugs and full of frightened anger. They shouldn’t be that dilated and my heart drops.

I calmly ask him what pills did he take. He doesn’t seem to understand the question. I lead him to his bed, again, and ask him what else did he take besides his pain meds. He jerks his arm out of my hand and says nothing. I look at the shelf where he keeps his things and find some empty pill bottles.

Dammit, I must have overlooked some pills in his bathroom. I pick them up and look at the labels.

I hear him moan and he tells me he just wants the pain to go away for a while. I read the labels on the now empty vials and see it’s antibiotics and other pain med. How many did he take? He doesn’t remember. I hand him a bottle of water and tell him to drink. Now, I’m worried. I ask him if he’s tired. No, he says, he’s hurting too much to go to sleep.

In my mind, I’m relieved. If he isn’t tired and doesn’t want to sleep, he isn’t too bad. Not too many pills are in his system, I hope.

 

I pocket the vials and make sure he’s settled once more. As I go back to my office, I throw the empty pill vials in the trash and check his bathroom for anymore missed pills. Finding none, I sit back down in my office chair. Tears are wanting to flow, but I know I can’t let them. If I start, I won’t stop. I can’t do it.

Twice more that day, I hear crashing and run to pick him up off the floor. Then the pills wear off and he’s better. I’m exhausted from worry, but thankful at the end of the day he is just scratched slightly, otherwise he seems ok.

Me, I’ve hurt my knee. To find out later that week at the doctor’s that I have pulled a ligament in my knee. The doctor doesn’t ask how I did it. I don’t offer him any information.

I just think, he had one of his bad days.

 

( I pulled a ligament in my knee about 8 months ago. This is how I did it. I don’t blame him. I blame the pain. I’m better now. He’s still in pain. We go on.)