Latest / Style Project: Fashion, beauty & personal style / Why Your Hobbies Vanish When You Travel (And How to Keep Them Alive) | Style Project
Transcript
- You pack your favorite sketchbook into the overhead bin, confident that this trip will be the reset you need, only to realize three hours later that you haven’t opened it once. The silence of the hotel room isn’t peaceful; it’s just empty space where your passion used to live. Let’s be real for a second. We have a serious abandonment issue when it comes to our hobbies whenever our calendars shift. It’s not just me. I see it in my friends who are photographers but leave their cameras in a drawer when they go on vacation. I see it in the women who stop journaling the moment their flight takes off. We treat our hobbies like separate entities from our lives, rather than threads woven into the fabric of who we are. So when the routine breaks, the hobby falls apart with it. And honestly? That feels like a betrayal. Not just to the activity, but to ourselves. We start to feel guilty for enjoying the break because we think we’re supposed to be optimizing every minute of our downtime. But here is the truth I’ve learned after years of chaotic travel and editing deadlines: your hobbies don’t disappear because you’re busy. They disappear because you’ve made them too rigid to survive the messiness of change. Think about the last time you tried to maintain a creative habit while traveling. Did you buy a new notebook specifically for the trip? Did you plan out exactly what you were going to write or draw each morning before coffee? If so, you probably failed. And that’s okay. Because we set ourselves up for failure by demanding perfection from our downtime. We want the travel version of our hobby to look exactly like the home version. We want the watercolor painting to be flawless, even though we’re sitting on a wobbly cafe chair in a city we’ve never seen. This is where the pressure kicks in. You start thinking, 'If I’m not creating something beautiful right now, then I’m not really doing it.' Does it feel like you? Or does it feel like you’re performing for an audience that isn’t there? When we tie our identity to the output of our hobbies, any interruption feels like a loss of self. But style, like life, is about flow, not force. You cannot force creativity when you are trying to navigate a new subway system or find a decent cup of espresso. The friction kills the magic. I always come back to fashion because it’s the perfect metaphor for this struggle. Think about your wardrobe. Do you only wear your favorite silk blouse when you’re at home, perfectly rested, with time to steam it? Or do you wear it when you’re rushing to the airport, knowing it might wrinkle? Most of us hide our best pieces away, saving them for 'special occasions' that never quite arrive. We treat our clothes like they are fragile artifacts rather than tools for living. And yet, the most powerful outfits are often the ones worn in unexpected places. A blazer looks incredible on a train platform. A simple dress feels luxurious in a crowded museum. We need to apply that same logic to our hobbies. Stop hiding your passion behind a velvet rope. Let it get a little wrinkled. Let it sit next to your passport and your sunscreen. The integrity of the hobby isn’t in its pristine condition; it’s in its presence. When you bring your sketchbook to the dinner table, even if you only draw one small circle, you are keeping the connection alive. You are saying, 'I am still me, even here.' So how do we actually fix this? How do we keep our hobbies alive when our schedules are constantly shifting? The answer lies in shrinking the goal until it’s ridiculous. I mean truly ridiculous. Instead of planning to paint for an hour, commit to drawing for thirty seconds. Instead of writing a chapter, write one sentence. When you travel, your energy is fragmented. Your attention span is stretched thin by new sights and sounds. Expecting deep focus is unrealistic. But expecting a micro-moment? That’s sustainable. I started carrying a tiny pocket notebook instead of a large leather journal. It fits in my purse. It doesn’t feel heavy. It doesn’t demand anything from me. I can pull it out while waiting for my coffee, while sitting in the lobby, while lying in bed before sleep. The barrier to entry becomes almost zero. And strangely, that low stakes approach makes it easier to return to the habit when you get home. You didn’t burn out. You didn’t quit. You just kept the ember glowing. It’s about consistency over intensity. It’s about showing up, however imperfectly, rather than staying away completely. There is also a beauty in the messy middle of things. When you practice a hobby in a non-traditional setting, you discover new textures and inspirations. I used to think my photography had to be taken in controlled lighting to be good. But some of my favorite shots were taken in the chaotic neon lights of a Tokyo street corner, blurry and unrefined. Those images taught me more about capturing emotion than any studio session ever could. Your hobbies should adapt to your environment, not the other way around. If you’re knitting and you’re stuck in traffic, maybe you switch to finger-knitting or just visualize the pattern. If you’re reading and you’re exhausted, listen to an audiobook instead. The core of the hobby is the engagement, not the specific medium. By allowing flexibility, you protect yourself from guilt. You stop feeling like a failure when you miss a day. You realize that life is happening, and your hobby is part of that life, not separate from it. Wear the pants, literally or metaphorically, by choosing comfort and connection over rigid rules. Ultimately, this is about reclaiming your identity as a creative person, regardless of where you are. We often compartmentalize our lives into 'work mode,' 'travel mode,' and 'home mode.' But you are one person. You don’t get to turn off your curiosity just because you’re in a different zip code. When you maintain your hobbies through travel, you are affirming that your passions are integral to who you are. They are not accessories you can leave behind. They are the lens through which you experience the world. So next time you pack for a trip, don’t just pack your clothes. Pack a piece of your soul. Put that pencil in your bag. Bring that book. Let it sit there, slightly out of place, reminding you that no matter how far you go, you are still the woman who loves to create. And if you don’t use it? That’s fine too. But the option remains. And that freedom is everything. Go ahead and throw that sketchbook in your carry-on. Let it get lost under your shoes. Just let it be there. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye for now.