During icebreakers, we often share our interests. “I sail.” “I like to play chess.” “I solve math problems in my free time.” Think back to the icebreakers that happened at the beginning of the year when everyone in your class took turns telling each other a few quick things about themselves. When someone said they loved doing something, did you automatically assume that they were skilled at it? That they’d had years of experience engaging in their passions? Upon hearing people list their hobbies, I myself have frequently made that assumption. Have you ever stopped to wonder why that assumption even takes shape in our heads in the first place?
At Milton, there exists a culture in which students are unwilling or hesitant to share any interest they aren’t proficient in. A poll of 92 Upper School students showed that 80% of respondents agree. Due to college applications’ being a constant, looming presence in most students’ lives—82% of participants in the same survey stated that strengthening their college resume factors into which activities they commit themselves to—many students have adopted the mindset that they need to spend their Milton days constructing a picture-perfect activity list that will blow away admissions officers. Consequently, students too often fall into the habit of wondering how to milk every possible drop of achievement from their passions, penning stories for the sake of writing contests or joining sports teams solely for the purpose of being recruited.
While making college the focal point of one’s Milton experience should concern us for a slew of reasons—such as the broken-record warning that this orientation won’t help you find what truly matters to you as an individual—I want to take the time to highlight one particular consequence that widespread college stress has brought upon us: the student body has collectively decided that “passion” equates with “skill.”
Of course, it isn’t like those who proclaim their interests are Nobel Prize winners. Yet there seems to be an invisible bar that we’re required to reach before having the right to declare that we like doing something. Enjoy studying philosophy? Then you’d better have a twelve-page thesis on Kantian self-legislation. Love watching Formula One? Then you’d better be able to recall Charles Leclerc’s fastest lap time at the 2018 Mexican Grand Prix. When it comes to discussions about what we like doing, “amateurism” has fallen out of our lexicons—66% of respondents in the aforementioned poll reported that they often find themselves holding back from sharing their amateur hobbies. Even though people don’t really go out of their way to grill us about how well-versed we are in the activities we voice interest in, we subconsciously fear that such interrogations might occur at any moment.
The problem with feeling pressured to withhold our amateur hobbies is less that we’re compelled to participate in those activities less frequently, but more that we grow used to suppressing our authentic identities around our friends and peers. As a result, the idea that others have of us is a heavily curated version of ourselves, a filtered persona that conceals our shortcomings at the expense of genuine connection. While it’s impossible for people to have an all-encompassing grasp of who we are, that limitation shouldn’t act as a pretext for us to intentionally obscure key facets of our individuality.
I urge you to subscribe to the belief that anything you enjoy, no matter how much experience or skill you have amassed so far, is worth doing and therefore worth sharing to others about. Even if you’re starting a hobby for the first time, whether it be a video game or a field of academia, remember that you have every right to inform others of your interest in that activity. While you don’t need to always make a point of announcing your amateur status, if someone inquires about your skill level, don’t be afraid to admit that you’re not very good at what you love or that you’re still getting to know your hobby.
At the same time, don’t jump to conclusions about someone’s competence when they tell you about their passions. Instead, celebrate their enthusiasm, asking them why they love partaking in those hobbies rather than zeroing in on what level they’re at or what accolades they’ve obtained. When we each do our part to honor each other’s joys, we ourselves will grow more empowered to dissolve our curated facades and showcase the more flawed yet genuine sides of our identities.
The next time you find yourself in an icebreaker, I encourage you to mention a hobby that you’re not competent in but that you love nonetheless. If that’s singing, you don’t need to start singing off-key in front of everyone; I ask that you simply share. Talking about what you enjoy is enough to give people something just as valuable as any demonstration: a real, unvarnished piece of yourself.