What Do You Do?

(An earlier version of this essay appeared six months ago, before I realized it wasn’t actually about hobbies.)

I used to know who I was.

Then I sold my company.

Now when people ask, “What do you do?” I don’t know what to say.

I can’t say, “I’m retired,” because I’m not. And saying, “I sit on a few boards,” sounds suspiciously retired.

When I tell people I write essays, they smile and say, “Good for you,” the way you’d encourage a child who announces he’s going to be an astronaut.

While writing takes up my work hours, I thought I should take up some new hobbies for my free time in this new chapter of my life. The problem is, I’ve never really had hobbies. I do stuff. I read, play tennis, travel, ride my bike, and drink bourbon. But those aren’t hobbies. They’re just shit I do.

Hobby people are different. They have forums. They attend conventions. They own specialty vests. They casually use words you’ve never heard before and seem disappointed you haven’t. If I took hobbies more seriously, I figured, I could say I was an ornithologist or a philatelist or anything with an “-ist.”

The internet listed more than seven hundred hobbies. I eliminated anything that could get me killed or required actual talent, which cut the list in half. Some sounded appealing, like crocheting, which I misread before deciding it wasn’t for me either. I ended up with three I decided to try: astronomy, infusion, and lomography.

First Stop: The Heavens Themselves

I kicked off my astronomy hobby by getting into a contrived argument with an actual astronomer about the space-watching binoculars he recommended in Astronomy Magazine. I emailed him that I disagreed with his choice, and he surprisingly wrote me back right away, explaining patiently and professionally that I was an idiot. But it was official: I was now an astronomer involved in meaningless scientific debates. I bought the pair of space binoculars he recommended, and they arrived two days later.

On my first night out, I learned that a blue moon isn’t blue, which felt like false advertising. It’s just an extra full moon in a month, which happens rarely, as in “once in a blue moon.” Who knew?

A week later I saw the International Space Station cross the sky, which was legitimately mind-blowing. An app told me exactly when and where to look for it, which seemed like an invasion of its privacy, but was handy for me.

Other things seemed silly. Constellations? What a scam. No group of stars looks like a man-horse archer. Comets? Forget it, you’ll never find them.

Standing alone in the dark looking for planets, I had a thought I didn’t love. I used to be somebody. If someone asked what I did, I had an answer before they finished the question. CEO. Founder. Educator. Those weren’t just jobs. They were shorthand.

Now I was a guy in flip-flops wondering where the hell Saturn went.

Still, there’s pleasure spending an hour outside at night, away from the sounds of everyday life. Looking up, I felt small and insignificant, but alive and in awe.

Want to buy a pair of used binoculars?

Second Stop: Infuse Me!

Next, I tried infusion.

I thought this could be hard because I hate recipes and can’t follow instructions, and infusing tends to have precise steps, measurements, and times. I was uniquely unqualified.

To document my journey toward becoming a person of refined sensibility and precision, I kept a diary:

Entry #1:

Yesterday I bought some small mason jars and tonight I’m sipping a delicious frozen rosemary infused gin. Maybe if astronomy led to an actual space voyage it could compare to infusion. This is a hobby that lets me learn and drink at the same time. I’m an infusionist!

Entry #4:

I made French spice-infused Earl Grey Tea. It’s delicious. Sweet and spicy. It’s like Paris and London had a baby, boiled it and poured it into my mug. I should start an infusion blog.

Entry #7:

This is getting old. Do I really need artichoke-infused gin made with a sous vide? Honestly, I’m getting sick of the flavored alcohol already. I need to find some other kinds of infusions. I’m off to the internet.

Entry #12:
I accidentally ended up on survivalist forums. These infusionists are preparing for the end-times using honey, garlic, and hatred of the federal government.

I’m out.

It was fun while it lasted. I’m glad I tried it.

Anyone want a free set of mason jars with the purchase of some binoculars?

Third Stop: Lomography

Lomography is a creative photography movement that values artistic expression over technical perfection. Blurry and overexposed mistakes are the point. I began by reading a lomography blog while drinking cardamom and ginger-infused vodka that I made while that was still a thing.

One of the best parts of this hobby for me was my camera. It was an Instamatic, so I could see results immediately. Every click delivered a tiny dopamine hit. Like mentoring someone, closing a sale, or teaching a room full of people, you’re rewarded right on the spot.

Driving around town looking for objects to photograph makes you look at everything more artistically. Should I capture this tree from a low angle? Should I shoot my cheese sandwich in black and white? Killing two hobbies with one shot, I took a blurry photo of my daughter standing in front of an orange moon. In fact, I took hundreds of candid photos of my family. Trish never said anything, but I’m sure she looked forward to this phase ending soon.

When I ran my company, I was often the subject of photographs. There were photos of me speaking in town hall meetings, at schools greeting children, giving speeches at conferences. Now I was on the other end, taking shots of others.

To be honest, I’m not sure which I like better, but I’ll hang on to the camera. No one has taken me up on the mason jars or binoculars anyway.

So what do I do?

I look for Saturn.

I infuse things that shouldn’t be infused.

I photograph blurry sandwiches.

I keep becoming.

How do you answer the question, "What do you do?" Has your answer changed over the years?