Few weeks back I decided to reconnect with an old hobby-art and craft. It wasn’t a planned moment, just one of those sudden urges to dive back into something that once brought me joy. During one of my visits back home, I saw an old steel tray lying unused and before mom could toss it out, I brought it with back with me hoping to remodel it.

For over three years, that tray sat on my shelf, mocking me every time I got to the weekly dusting routine. It became an emblem of all the things I had abandoned—not just hobbies, but pieces of myself. Then one fine day, I finally took it out and decided to upcycle it. I pulled out my old art supplies and dropped by the neighborhood store to shop for some more. When I stepped inside, just the sight of everything inside felt therapeutic. I did not even realise when had I started smiling. I felt like a long-lost part of me was waking up. I didn’t realize when I started smiling as I walked past each aisle, but it was as if my soul was exhaling after holding its breath for too long.

When they say the process is as important as the outcome-I found meaning in it that evening. With every stroke of brush, I was not just painting the tray but I was stacking the legos of my inner child. The inner self that has been lost over the years to nothing but layers of life’s routines and demands.
That’s when it hit me: it’s not just hobbies we lose as we grow older; we lose so much of ourselves.

Our lives become an amalgamation of influences—family, work, friends, society, and the endless stream of information that surrounds us. Our likes, dislikes, food habits, what we read, what we watch, everything slowly starts getting coloured or influenced by so much that is happening around us. We start picking books based on Goodreads ratings, watching movies recommended by algorithms, or choosing hobbies that feel "productive."

And then we hit our 30s. For many, this decade comes with a mix of clarity and confusion. It’s the phase where life takes on a different rhythm—quieter, perhaps, but also more introspective. For me, my 30s is becoming a period of rediscovery, a time to actively reconnect with who I am and redefine what makes me me.

Drafting and Redrafting the Constitution of Self
One thing I’ve learned in the past few years is that self-reconnection is not a single act—it’s a continuous process. There are days when some of the most mundane things make me pause and reflect. And then there are days when significant events—a major fight with a friend, a career setback, or a moment of vulnerability—force me to confront who I’ve become.

It feels a bit like redrafting a constitution (an analogy that the lawyer in me couldn’t resist). What are the non-negotiables of my being? What can I let go of? What needs revising?

This process isn’t always easy. It requires honesty, even when it’s extremely uncomfortable and ugly. Sometimes, it’s painful to acknowledge how much of ourself we’ve compromised or forgotten. But it’s also liberating to realize that we have the power to reclaim it.

For me, hobbies are becoming a gateway back to myself. Picking up a DIY project, trying to get back to needlework, or just reading might seem trivial, but these activities do something profound—they create space for stillness, focus, and joy. In those moments, I’m not thinking about deadlines, social or professional expectations, or the next big thing I need to achieve. I’m just being.

However, reconnecting with oneself isn’t just about reviving old hobbies; it’s about recognizing all the parts of ourself that we’ve consciously or unconsciously left behind. It is about facing the reality and understanding how much we change over time. While some things will never come back, and that’s okay, my goal remains to recreate the best and happiest version of my past self that existed. To weave those parts into the person I am now.

Finding Peace in the Process
I understand that the journey of self-reconnection isn’t linear. There will be days when it feels like I have made great strides and days when it feels like I am back at square one. But every step matters. I am certain that every small act of self-care, every moment of stillness, every creative pursuit contributes to rebuilding the foundation of who we are.

For me, that old steel tray is now a daily reminder of this journey. It sits proudly on my coffee table, imperfect but wholly mine—just like the person I’m becoming.