Cooking. Knitting. Canning. Languages. Music. Fitness. Movies. Decorating. Embroidery.
I have obsessions. Many, many obsessions. They rotate in and out of my life in varying lengths and intensities. Some things like embroidery were complete flops that contributed nothing of real value, whereas others like music truly tap into my talents and are lifelong loves.
More often than not, these obsessions require supplies and equipment. This means, of course, that I have to shop for them, which is an interest in and of itself.
I really shouldn’t call them “obsessions” though, should I? The word “obsession” is both over- and misused. Like “depressed.” Like, we’re not always “depressed.” Sometimes we’re just a little down because our bangs are doing that thing again and there’s a definite muffin top forming on our favourite jeans. Anyway. Let me start over.
I have interests. Many, many interests. I both love and hate this about myself. I love that my interests are varied and that I’m not one-tracked. I hate, however, that most of these interests have gone by the wayside and that when I pick up a new interest, my husband sort of chuckles because he knows exactly how this will end. By the way, that’s why I haven’t told him about this blog yet. I’m waiting until I have some level of success. Not sure what that benchmark is yet. Maybe, like, 10 followers, or something? I don’t know. I digress.
I hate appearing flighty and I hate the feeling of guilt when I see that massive collection of yarn (“Oh, love that colour, and it’s on sale and I have a coupon, and I can’t wait to find a pattern for it…”) and half-finished projects (“It’s going to be a blanket for the baby! Oh, God, I don’t have a tea cozy. We actually need a blanket for the couch, though…”) sitting in the hall closet.
Pregnancy was one of my “interests.” Quiz me: I know it all. I researched pregnancy for two years before actually getting pregnant. Now I’ve got this amazing result of that research and hard work and she is very quickly becoming a little clone. Which brings me to my query:
Is this capriciousness something I want to impart on B?
Should I try and adjust my behaviour and develop a bit more stick-to-it-ness? Or, is this actually a virtue, in that my baby girl may become one of those worldly gals that is a blast at cocktail parties because she can speak easily with everyone?
I suppose, ultimately, she will be who she will be, and as far as behaviours go, this isn’t a terrible one (I should be more concerned with my eating habits and my Irish temper that goes from flaming mad to hugging and sobbing at the drop of a hat). At the very least, we’ll have fun finding new interests together. Ha! My poor husband….
What do you think?