Slow hobbies like kite flying, tai chi and tinkering with tiny boat engines are about creating wellbeing out of stillness and immersing in the intricacies of subtlety.
On any given morning in Shanghai, you can find several locals flying elaborate kites along the western bank of the Huangpu River. These kites are not “toys,” as one can easily discern by the hand-crafted precision with which they were constructed. They are flying works of art. It may be that the only thing more beautiful than these kites decorating the Shanghainese skies in the morning hours are the smiles on the faces of the people who are flying them.
In Hong Kong, at Victoria Park, one can find the “Model Boat Lagoon,” where the local Hong Kongers gather on weekends to traipse their gasoline-powered, remote-controlled boats back and forth across a small lagoon. The more serious aficionados have elaborate tool kits with them and are constantly fine-tuning their boat’s performance. My untrained eye can’t see the difference in the tiny adjustments they make to the rotor or carburetor of their miniature engines, but these hobbyists are clearly proud of how they keep their vessels humming.
In almost any park or playground in greater China, you can find people practicing the ancient art of tai chi, an “internal” martial art thought to be beneficial for health and longevity. Individuals, clusters and even large groups gather together and perform this beautiful art that looks like a cross between line dancing and kung fu, in exquisitely slow motion.
Moving to Asia last year, I have come to appreciate these “slow hobbies” that are so endearing to the Asian people. These kinds of activities do not have as strong a foothold in the West, where the culture of productivity pushes us to fill every waking moment with accomplishments. We wear our business like a badge of honor. “Look at all I am doing,” we cry. “Can’t you see how important I am?”
These Asian hobbies are about accomplishment also, but it is of a much subtler variety. It is about mastering one’s personal will, creating wellbeing out of stillness and immersing oneself in the intricacies of subtlety. Imagine the patience in watching your kite slowly rise for an hour. Or the attention to detail required spending hours fine-tuning a tiny motor. Or the self-control in slowly shifting your balance through a series of tai chi postures while listening carefully to the conversation between your mind, your muscle fibers and your nervous system.
It’s not as if these slow hobbies don’t exist in the West; you can find kite fliers, boat racers and tai chi practitioners anywhere in the world. But they do seem to be a dying breed, slowly pushed to extinction by CrossFitters, corporate breadwinners and entrepreneurs, whose accomplishments splash across the pages of social media.
If you are interested (as I am) in creating a renaissance of slowness, maybe you would like to take up a slow hobby. They seem to have three important characteristics:
- They take time. You can’t unlock the benefits of a slow hobby in 30 minutes. You have to be willing to invest the most precious resource you have: your time.
- They don’t fill the void. Slow hobbies are not about filling up every minute with productivity. They are about savoring the spaces in between.
- They are personal. These kinds of activities just don’t make a good Facebook or Instagram post. You are not likely to win adoring fans and public recognition because of how well you fly a kite or navigate a small lagoon with a toy boat. The satisfaction you feel is somehow sweeter because it is yours alone.
In our fast-paced world, a slow hobby can feel anachronistic, like it just doesn’t fit into our busy lifestyles. But I would argue that this is exactly why we need them. We need time to immerse ourselves in slowness. If, for no other reason, than to examine, by contrast, how the rest of our life is hurdling along.