A dabbler's dilemma

When I was 10 I quit piano. For the first time. I was destined to quit twice more before my piano playing days were officially over. Would that piano were the only hobby I have taken up for a few enthusiastic months, or years, only to gradually abandon it, or at least lose that initial spark. To date, my impressively long dabbling record includes ballet, clarinet, latin dance, Greek language, knitting, tennis, blogging, softball, track, guitar, Latin language, French language, yoga and photography. In the interest of my career's well-being (and my readers' patience) I will not delve into my professional life, which also could be considered an exercise in dabbling.

All of this was fine. Until I moved to New York City.

If nothing else, New York certainly accomplishes one thing: making people like me feel woefully inadequate. See, the problem with dabbling, or rather, dabblers, is that we rarely focus on one thing long or intensely enough to excel at anything. Do I love cooking? Yes. Am I willing to subscribe to twenty cooking magazines, only shop at the freshest farmers markets, and try at least 2 new recipes a week. Negative. Do I love tennis? Absolutely. Am I a good player? If you consider playing high school varsity and about twice a year ever since, then sure. How about Greek? Great language, and I can tell you that I speak a little ("milao poli ligo") and that would almost use up the entirety of my vocabulary.

Despite my own deep-seeded belief that enjoying something is reason enough to try it, New Yorkers have often made me feel pretty embarassed about my lacsadaisical attitude toward my leisure time. In fact, whenever I talk about my hobbies, I feel like I am unwittingly pulled into a pissing contest with fellow enthusiasts who are, well, more enthusiastic than I am.

Take the last meeting of a knitting circle I recently joined. The de facto leader of the group took advantage of our growing interest in the craft to inform us of not 1, not 2, but 5 great knitting communities we should join online (one even has a knitting live journal), as well as a weekly knit in the park outing she attends. In order to participate in the latter, you must submit a knitting resume detailing your lastest project and what kind of yarn you're using. "It's just better not to have beginners, you know?" Maybe this type of superiority is common in the knitting community; I was shamed out of another knitting circle for similar quips.

Then there are my foodie friends. Oh, the foodies. Now, I grew up in a big fat Greek house. Let's just say I can do food. However, foodies have a way of making something I love as much as cooking unfun. Not only do foodies feel the need to keep their pantry stocked of exotic, expensive ingredients the likes of which would make my grandma cry, they feel the need to announce every ingredient used, as well cooking techniques employed. When someone has made you a 5 course meal with duck bacon and Ethiopian spices, how do you exactly return the invitation with your old faithful chicken parm? Again, dinner preparation for foodies resembles more training for an olympic sport (with commentary) rather than breaking bread with friends.

I think what bothers me the most about competitive leisure time is that for me, it defeats the point. I think I've always enjoyed spending time with friends more than I've ever enjoyed what we're doing together. Likewise, I like to relax- do I care HOW I relax on a given day? Not especially. And see, the reason I'm bringing this up in the blogosphere is because I'm sure I'm not alone out there.

All you folks who love karaoke but can't sing, you belt it out! Everyone who jogs super slowly in the park with the marathon runners, you get your workout in! And last, but not least, novice knitters UNITE!

I have my fingers in a lot of pies and I'm proud of it. This blog happens to be one of the pies for now, and in all likelihood it will not be the best blog you have ever read. But goddammit I'm going to write it with a big shit eating grin on my face.