Why I Started Calling my Side Hustle a Hobby
Late in the afternoon, I was driving down the road with my partner just as an Anime convention was finishing for the day. The regular chaos of a Saturday in the city was now amplified by the hundreds of people wearing wings, heels, and body paint.
“Think about how much those costumes cost,” I said.
“Not to mention the convention itself, the airline tickets, and the hotel rooms,” my partner responded.
“God, people pay a lot for their hobbies.”
I started a side hustle for many of the same reasons that others do. I wanted to escape the 9 to 5, have control over my time, gain freedom in my schedule, and be my own boss. I also wanted to create something I could call my own, on my own terms. I wanted to write a book, put my name on it, and point at it and say, “I created that.”
And I succeeded.
As of now, I’ve written two books and have a third on the way. If you look up my name on Amazon, you’ll find an author page that looks the same as J.K. Rowling’s, albeit without the numerous bestsellers and impressive bio. Regardless, I look like an author and I have every right to call myself one.
The problem is that I started equating my side hustle as an author with the ability to support myself financially and quit my day job. Soon, publishing a few books wasn’t enough. While my childhood self who dreamed of being an author was happy, fulfilled dreams don’t always pay the bills.
Every cost mattered. And there were a lot of them. Websites, landing pages, editors, graphic designers, P.O. Boxes, email service providers, advertisements, domains, on and on and on. I felt ashamed at the coffee shop I used as an office when I could only order the cheapest item on the menu. Double caramel lattes were for people that had money in the bank.
This was my business and my business was in the red.
Looking out the car window at the monster outfits and historically accurate spears that would never pass through airport security, I wondered what the difference between us was. We both gave our time, energy, and money to participate in activities we loved. Even though they spent their time in elaborate costumes holding comic books, and I enjoyed hiding behind my computer in yoga pants, we were both devoted to bringing meaning to our lives through artistic means. We were all artists, body paint or not.
“But, how can they spend so much money on this?” I asked.
“Because they love it. It’s not about the money.”
It’s not about the money. As an entrepreneur living in the Silicon Valley, a phrase like this is rarely said. Don’t get me wrong; I’m surrounded by passionate people who throw their hearts into their work, but the financial return isn’t ignored. Not only do we want to put food on the table, we want to be shopping in the fine meats section of Whole Foods. The heart doesn’t stray too far from the wallet.
It was only recently I decided that author was synonymous with entrepreneur and writing was synonymous with supporting myself financially. Prior to the shift, I was content with filling my computer with articles that would never be read and spending hours dreaming of stories that would never be published. I loved writing for its own sake. Once I decided to make a living out of it, I didn’t know how to enjoy spending a dollar if I couldn’t see how that dollar would be returned to me through my future publishing efforts. Every dollar spent was a dollar lost, and even a naïve entrepreneur with no business savvy knows this is bad.
Instead of writing what I loved, I started tailoring my work to the market. I chose topics because I read they were trendy and would rank highly on Google. I spent time on promotion and advertising because that’s what I believed an entrepreneur was supposed to be doing. I built a website and a social media presence because I had been told this was the only way to get noticed.
When stories popped into my head, I tucked them away for later. I assured myself that, someday, when I’d finally made it as an author, I could pull those stories back out and write something I actually cared about. This had become about dollar signs, not love.
I knew I couldn’t put a roof over my head with love alone, but I’d made a mistake by getting rid of it altogether. Abandoning the 9 to 5 in exchange for a life that made me anxious, miserable, and financially strained was not my intention. I knew my journey would come with financial sacrifices, but calling myself an entrepreneur had falsely amplified the importance of my bank account.
I needed to write with a perspective of the worth of the work from an emotional, not solely financial, perspective. I needed to reinfuse my entrepreneurial adventure with the passion I had originally embarked on it with. So, I threw out the term “entrepreneur,” and reacquainted myself with the word “hobby.”
Think about one of your hobbies and how much you spend on it a year. Maybe it’s conventions. Maybe it’s running, camping, rock climbing, or skiing. Maybe it’s sewing, knitting, pottery, or dance. Maybe you like to bake, travel, build tree houses, attend concerts, or ride horses. Whatever it may be, we knowingly spend a lot of money on activities that don’t promise any financial return. Heck, I just heard of a woman who has spent $90,000 on her gnome collection.
Instead of money, we expect our hobbies to give us enjoyment, fun, satisfaction, pride, or victory. These feelings are supposed to be worth the money.
When I reframed my side hustle as a hobby, I realized I had been missing out on the joy of my writing by putting pressure on it to support me financially. I had published two books for goodness sake and I was agonizing over the fact that I wasn’t a millionaire?! Any author knows that equating writing with money is both pointless and a sure fire way to fall out of love with the activity. No, my money wasn’t buying me more money, but that suddenly wasn’t the point anymore.
I started viewing my publishing costs the same way convention goers likely view theirs. My editing costs were my fairy wings, my professionally designed book covers were my body paint, and my website was my six inch heels and spear. These costs weren’t boundaries to my ability to be a successful business woman, but instead, were my means of engaging in an activity I loved.
I’ve started pulling those stories back out of the deep dark shelves of my brain that I stored them away in. Yes, I know I’ll need to spend time on promotion, advertising, networking, and other tasks I don’t enjoy if I plan to make a living as an author. But, I also know that I’ll never make it as an author if my preoccupation with entrepreneurship kills my love for the activity. So, for every hour I spend writing something for my business, I spend another hour writing something for my heart.
Maybe someday I’ll be able to welcome the words “side hustle” and “entrepreneur” back into my vocabulary as synonyms for “love” and “passionate purpose seeker,” but I’m not there yet. While writing is still a business venture, calling it a “hobby” reminds me that it’s about more than the money it earns me. It reminds me to love it for its own sake. And that’s better than any pile of cash anyway.
If you’re ready to jumpstart your next goal, pick up my free “Goal Setting Guide” here or at dianafitts.com/guide
