Twenty-Something Was Filling Out a “Tell Me About Yourself” Form at Work and Sat Frozen at the Hobbies Section — She Used to Draw, Played Guitar for Three Years, and Read Real Books, but Now Watches Her Hands Refresh the Same Four Apps When Her Brain Doesn’t Want to Think

In her early twenties, Kara was sitting at her desk during a brief lull at work, staring at a “Tell Me About Yourself” form that her manager had handed out. A few questions in, she reached the section about hobbies and froze. The blank line was taunting her, and she couldn’t help but feel a wave of frustration wash over her.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t had any hobbies at all. She used to draw in high school, filling sketchbooks with her doodles. There was a time when she’d strum her guitar in her college dorm, losing herself in chords and melodies for hours. And, of course, there was the once-cherished pastime of reading. Real books, full of words and worlds that took her away from her own reality. But now? Now she felt like those memories were echoes of someone else’s life.

As she stared at the empty line, a grim realization set in. “Scrolling isn’t a hobby. Watching YouTube isn’t a hobby. Refreshing the same four apps isn’t a hobby.” She could picture her hands mindlessly flicking through her phone, swiping left and right, yet none of it felt remotely fulfilling. What was she doing? How had she gone from creating art and music to becoming a devoted follower of the endless scroll? She wasn’t even enjoying it. It felt like a void, a kind of absence masquerading as leisure.

With a frown, she thought of her friends. Just the previous week, they’d been chatting about their own hobbies over coffee. When she asked them what they did outside work, most of them shrugged and mentioned binge-watching Netflix, scrolling TikTok, or the occasional video game session. They couldn’t name anything that brought them actual joy or challenged them in a creative way. The conversation suddenly felt disappointing, but it was also strangely reassuring. It wasn’t just her; they were all in the same boat, paddling away from the shores of creativity.

In her mind, she replayed those conversations, and it hit her like a ton of bricks: “I think a lot of us quietly traded every interesting thing about ourselves for convenience.” Convenience was comfortable, but it was beginning to feel like a trap. Kara’s old hobbies had at least offered her some sort of effort and reward, a chance to create something tangible. Now, she felt like she was living in a loop of comfort that left her feeling empty.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do something; it was just that the overwhelming choice paralysis made it hard to figure out where to start. She thought back to that time she’d picked up her guitar after months of silence. The moment she plucked a string, it felt like an awakening, but guilt quickly overshadowed it. Why hadn’t she picked it up again? Why did it feel easier to sit on the couch scrolling through endless TikTok dances rather than picking up a brush or her guitar? She sighed deeply, realizing that perhaps a part of her had surrendered her identity as a creator in exchange for the mindlessness of digital distractions.

She looked around her office, observing her coworkers typing away, their screens flickering with glaring lights. Were they all feeling this sense of loss? Did they miss the days when they would dive into creative projects and come out feeling accomplished? Or were they simply content to exist in this digital haze where the days blurred together?

It was a minor revelation, but it struck a chord. Wasn’t it time to reclaim those hobbies, to resurrect the parts of herself that seemed lost? Something needed to change. She didn’t want to fill out the rest of that form with the same recycled sentences about screen time and numbing entertainment. She wanted to write something that reflected who she really was, even if it was just a line about getting back to her sketchbook or dusting off her guitar.

As she finally began to type, the weight of indecision lifted. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy, and maybe it wouldn’t happen overnight, but it felt like the first step toward reviving the creative spark inside her. Whether it was picking up a brush, strumming a guitar, or losing herself in actual novels again, she was ready to leave the numbness behind.

User comments may follow this story, but for now, she was focused on the future. She had a feeling that this little exercise of self-reflection might just be the wake-up call she needed.