Psychology of Hobbies

A little while ago, my cousin Sarah posted on Instagram a cup of steaming tea and explained that she was under the weather. My mother, ever the nurse, posted advice that included "Clear liquids, ibu or Tylenol as needed and lots of rest." I chimed in as soon as I saw the post, and said "....and comics. Lots of comics."

Thing is... I was only half joking. It was a reflex reaction to the idea of being sick. My cousin doesn't care a lick about comics, I knew that. But the association of being sick and having comics to read seemed to be deep rooted.

Which got me thinking (of course).

Now don't think that I'm trained as a psychologist, or even took any classes in psychology in my college years. So the following theories are only my ill-informed thought process with no educational root. But it seems logical.

My love of comics goes deep, I know that. But my feelings about the hobby are different today than they were 15 years ago, and very different from 15 years before that. And it seems to run much deeper than a hobby-style love formed during my "golden age" (age eight years old).

All through my life, comics have been used to reinforce the positive.

When I got sick, I was given new comics to keep my mind of my grumbly tummy.

When we took long car trips, I was given comics to keep me entertained and happy.

At Christmas, Santa stuffed my stocking with comics and put super-hero toys under the tree.

At birthdays, comics were given to me as well as plenty of super-hero themed action figures, Colorforms, and Viewmaster reels.

If I got good grades, comics were my reward. If I got bad grades, I was put on comic restriction.

To this day, if something bad happens and my mind starts to obsess on it, I think about comics to break that unhealthy cycle.

I even think about what comics I read the day before in order to avoid thinking about how much time is left running on the treadmill.

I brought comics to read on my Honeymoon!

I think it's possible that I've been deeply training myself all my life to rely on comic books as a cure-all. The ultimate escapist remedy to whatever ails you.

I find the thought disturbing. But it answers some inadequacies in my past. During the first half of the 1990's, I was miserable, aimless, alone, depressed, poor and hungry. All the money I made was spent on comics and toys, which didn't directly address any of my problems. I built a comic book room that I was proud to show off, but that I could neither afford nor justify.

This didn't bring me happiness. It's foolish to think so. It was obviously a gut reaction to how to remedy the dourness of my situation. The Chuck of today gets angry a lot at Chuck-in-his-twenties. Today, I'm all about fixing problems. Then, I guess I was all about avoiding them.

I regularly ate macaroni and cheese made with water for dinner. While sitting next to a stack of comics that grew faster than I could read. It was a dichotomy of excess and poverty. It was foolish in the extreme. I still carry deep shame that some of my closest friends started to see me as a food-mooch.

In the last fifteen years, my entire focus has changed. It hasn't been quick or easy, but my mind has changed from the idea of avoiding ones problems to the idea of tackling everything head on. My life has balance now. My roles as a father and husband are paramount. My interests are many, varied, and balanced. I exercise five days a week. Not to lose weight but to be active. I budget everything in our lives and plan things out months in advance. I've turned my OCD obsession away from a singular focus and, for good or bad, applied it to all areas of my life.

Sometimes I'll find myself sitting in front of a problem. Usually budget or kid related and usually manifested in the form of a spreadsheet on the screen in front of me. I don't want to get started, I don't even know where to start, and I don't want to deal with it. I'll let my eyes wander over to my iPad or my Apple TV and think briefly about what I would rather be doing. But I end up leaning forward, lifting my hands to the keyboard, and thinking 'just do that thing that you do'.

A year ago in September, I stopped buying physical comics and toys. I still buy comics digitally, and I still read them at every chance I get. But when I do read them, I know I'm not using them to avoid a life that I'm miserable with.

So I've broken some demons, changed on a molecular level, and I'm probably still not yet done evolving. I feel that a childhood passion turned into an adult obsession and that I've successfully turned it back into just a hobby.

It's too early to tell with my six-year-old Alex. But my thirteen-year-old Ashton and my eleven-year-old Katie seem to have much more variety in their lives. Only time will tell, but hopefully they'll be able to avoid some of the more addictive aspects of my personality.

Thanks,
DCD