Tender Labors of Love
There is nothing so noble as the simple pleasure from a labor of love.
The tendering of a garden: watering tender tendrils until flowers blossom; weaving wool and threads into magnificent apparels; dancing under the moon; singing loudly in a chilly evening; writing sporadically about your lover’s smile; running for no reason, not even to get fit; collecting rocks, music, pictures, words, quotes, and smiles. Engaging in noble and simple, not-for-profit deliberate exertion of the human mind and soul.
These are labors of love. Actions not yet corrupted by the ravaging hands of profit and greed. Simple idealistic endeavors of living and existing. Passionate inclinations. Tender nurturing and grooming of trivial interests. Noble preoccupations, just for the sake of it.
For while we are constantly grated by the vicissitudes of life, submerged in the turbulent quagmire of long shifts, deadlines, bills, appointments, and meetings, life throws a Lifebuoy—support against the raging storm.
Amidst the callous bruises of work and routines, hobbies are a salve to our aching soul—a soothing balm to heal our minds and mend our spirits.
Call it a hobby, a pastime, or a leisure interest.
How long before you begin to understand that life is one long tumultuous journey? An endless voyage down the path of gathering and consumption. A vicious cycle of profit and loss.
You will soon realize that most of your waking hours are spent on arduous plowing and sowing.
I hope you begin to pay more attention to the gentle thump of your heart while you engage in nobler acts like spending the evenings walking around the streets, gazing at the faces of children with no cares or worries, just immersed in simple preoccupations like building sand castles that will be washed away by the rain at the end of the day, cooking meals that no one will eat, aimlessly chasing a patch of shade from a cloud as it moves with the sun.
I pray you begin to see that playfulness is the elixir of eternal youthfulness. Simply doing things for the pleasure of it—your labor of love.
Hobbies are essential lubricants to the constant tugging wheels of the fierce capitalism we have all been assembled and tossed into. It's a special time for the mind to take a break from the mindless pursuit. A time to create without seeking profit. To build with no objective in mind. To write without intending to manipulate or convict. To dance without wondering who is staring. To sing with no lofty ambition.
To labor in love is to revel in the mechanics of starting and finishing a noble interest, without plaguing the mind with the thought of an outcome or trying to define the fate of what is being created.
It’s doing the simple things like spending an evening with a book; a weekend dragging paint brushes on a white canvas; a Sunday evening penning down dreams and imaginations in a journal; a Monday night collecting rare images of an unknown insect; a Friday evening picking up seashells or rocks and tossing everything back into the sea; a Thursday evening curating playlists of your favorite songs and sharing with friends; a Saturday morning running a marathon or sending out a newsletter; a Wednesday afternoon knitting a cardigan for your dog.
These are simple labors of love, void of the intensity typical of activities that require profit; far from the ever-roaring demand of KPIs and targets or metrics. Just a mindful act of creation and being.
Ours is a culture of gains and profits, results and metrics. And sadly, the current reality demands that nothing should be done just for the sake of it.
Every engagement, every enterprise, must be developed, customized, and branded for profit.
Everyone with a talent for singing, must become a musician and make a profit selling their music. Sing for fun? What’s that? If you must dance, ensure you attract the big brands to give you an endorsement.
Don’t write about stars and love and smiles and the heavens. Write about things you can profit from. Write in a manner that will stir up the emotions of people and increase the number of your followers. Write about a trauma you know nothing about. What does it mean to write for yourself? How will you pay your bills?
We corrupt our souls with an ever-growing need for reward.
By all means work. By all means, be productive in a typically capitalistic way. By all means pay your bills. By all means, learn skills you can apply and earn a living from. By all means, be responsible for the space you occupy.
But also, by all means, play. By all means, capture magnificent images of birds, clouds, and the rainbow. By all means, write a sonnet. By all means, wander about and wonder. By all means, run aimlessly. By all means, cook your favorite meal and enjoy it even if you’re alone. By all means, sing in the shower. By all means, go hiking, and do not take elaborate pictures for Social Media. By all means, run a marathon and celebrate even if you come last.
By all means, bake cakes and share them with kids, and do not consider starting a cake business. By all means, go skating, fall, laugh, and try again. By all means, recite poetry and laugh even if you are terrible at it. By all means, write for your 120+ Substack subscribers and publish every Saturday morning.
By all means, be tender to the tender tendrils of your soul. Nurture the petals of your heart until they blossom into blooming flowers radiating a soothing fragrance that will revitalise your soul’s essence.
For why are we here if not
To be alive
To be alive: not just the carcass.
But the spark.
If we’re not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?