The hobby I’ve been more fully-assing over the last year or so is crochet. It lends a sort of karmic justice to the fact that my final form will be an old cat lady, but my sense of practicality objects to doilies and shit like that. I do mostly afghans.
There’s a certain satisfaction to handmaking things. Perhaps it strikes me more because I’m not a person with a strong physicality. As a teenager my particular douchery was along the physical/mental dichotomy, and a large part of my identity was in being a Smart. So it’s been a change for me to do things like dabble in yoga and fart around in the kitchen.
Writing is barely concrete, barely physical, even if you’re a dinosaur who does it on actual paper with actual ink/graphite. The words and ideas are the same whether your handwriting is pretty or not.
But crochet is very tactile. My cheapskatedness hinders my fiber snobbery, but it undermines the meditative pleasure of crochet when the yarn is some gritty, scratchy shit. I don’t like using Red Heart Super Saver. Caron One Pound’s mileage varies pretty severely. I hate Hobby Lobby on principle, with their shitty religio-politics and their shitty, overpriced home decor, but dammit they’ve got a nice store brand of acrylic yarn. And it comes in a shitload of colors that they actually stock, so I can hold it up against other colors to see in person how they go. (Color-going-together-ness isn’t my strong point, so I need all the help I can get.)
But SOME won’t APPRECIATE your HARD WORK no matter WHAT you do.