My Year of “Hobbymaxxing”

Productivity kink, emblem of indecision or sign of a life well-lived?

My roommate and I live in a tiny walk-up apartment in New York City. Yet we still find room for what we affectionately call the “DJ booth,” a small table that holds my new DDJ-FLX-4 controller as I practice DJing every night. (My roommate is a very kind person who claims not to be bothered by my botched attempts at transitions.) Our TV stand doubles as a bookshelf for the two books I’m currently reading, and also contains craft materials that are perfect for multitasking with a movie.

We laugh about our varied kinds of play, which some internet circles have taken to calling “hobbymaxxing,” or the pursuit of multiple hobbies at once.

I’ve always been someone whose “free time” was suspiciously full. As a child, my mom shuttled my brother and I from soccer practice to ballet, from choir camp to math competitions. It was the late 2000s, when this well-roundedness was still heralded not as expectation, but as the liberty to transcend labels, be anything, and do everything. We watched Troy Bolton choose basketball—and theatre—in our favorite Disney Channel original movies. We read about Hermoine’s Time-Turner, skirting the limitations of time in order to learn as much as possible.

As I grew up, this blessed freedom soon became enforced. The best college applications weren’t just about excelling in one passion. Admissions officers wanted to see passion in multiple areas.

Even celebrities are hobbymaxxing now. One Vulture profile late last year described how actor Josh O’Connor “diversified his hobby portfolio,” like it’s something you can invest in, something that produces material returns and appreciates over time.

I worry that my hobbies aren’t simply things that intrigue me, that instead they’re a carefully calculated mix to paint me as someone accomplished, interesting, educated, and fun. When I unfold the “DJ booth” and try to deduce which combinations of keys and lyrics and instrumentals blend well into each other, am I really enjoying the meticulous process of turning the EQ dials and lining up the beats, or am I envisioning myself publicly performing and being admired for it one day? When I sit down to write, the experience itself can sometimes feel dreadful as I plague myself with doubts and criticism before 100 words are even on the page. Am I drawn on by a perverse love for the written word, dreams of reader appreciation, or both? Inspecting my hobby-related goals for this year only makes me question my intentions more.

I want to read one book a week. (Read: I am cultured.)

I want to write a novel this year. (Read: I am creative.)

I want to learn to DJ and book a club gig. (Read: I am fun.)

I can’t deny that I want all of these things and that I mostly enjoy working toward them. But are these goals really a product of my diverse interests? Or are they a sign that even in my leisure, I still value productivity, buying into a capitalist dream of the well-rounded individual who wants to be observed and lauded for achieving?

Perhaps hobbymaxxing is just an insidious manifestation of the #girlboss who does it all or a self-improvement trap, reminiscent of the Pride and Prejudice, Regency-era “accomplished woman” who’s expected to read, paint, play pianoforte, and keep an attractive figure, honing all the skills that comprise a privileged, upstanding citizen.

Time is finite, and resources limited. How can one do it all? As Elizabeth Bennet says, this accomplished woman would be “a fearsome thing to behold,” indeed. But then, because time is finite, how can one not want it all? The impossibility makes it that much more desirable.

We each only have about 4,000 weeks of life within us, if we’re lucky. I can see the beautiful fruit that could grow on each twig of Sylvia Plath’s fig tree if I picked one hobby and let it flourish. If I just focused on my writing, I might become the next literary star. If I devoted all my free time to practicing creative DJ transitions, I would be headlining clubs in Ibiza. If I read more, I could become a BookTok influencer, able to get my hands on releases early and meet the buzziest writers.

I can see and appreciate these possible permutations of myself. But I also fear what I would lose if I became a master of one, focusing on a single hobby so as to turn it into something profitable rather than something for myself.

I can’t decide if my efforts to try it all are at best, brave, or at worst, a very proud miscalculation of what is possible for one person. But at a potluck, who wouldn’t be tempted by the range of items in front of you at different times? Sue me for wanting a bite of each.

Mixing 2000s club hits together reminds me to dance around a little every day and gives me an appreciation for popular music, the way it rises and swells and brings us along on the journey. Reading helps me appreciate the lives and intellects of others, how the twists and turns of a few phrases can completely transform a worldview. And writing helps me appreciate my own thought process, at times outlining and at others letting something mystical flow through my fingers as I type away.

Is it so horrible, so depraved, if I cycle through them all and pursue what ignites me at any given time? Is it a life poorly lived if I dabble in everything, not long enough to be an expert, but free enough to have tasted it all?

I don’t think so. So I’ll wake up tomorrow and read my daily pages, practice my DJ transitions, and build out my Save the Cat beat sheet. I’ll go to bed tired, without an accolade to my name, but very full.

Hailey Oppenlander is a public relations professional and writer living in New York City. She has too many hobbies and probably too many thoughts.