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Hobby To Heal The Heart

Hobby To Heal The Heart

4 mins 378 4 mins 378

I wonder what it’s like to be a cat or an ant. Two beings that are completely opposite to each other, one lives on whim and another is a breed that follows the order till death. The thing I wonder about the most was how they both react to broken hearts, depression and loneliness. Do they feel awkward like me? Do they feel troubled while talked to their fellow cats and ants?

Does their family also give them anxiety? Does the feeling of having a loved one and getting scared when someone actually wants to love them scare them too?


It’s clear I am not in a good state of mind. One of my deepest thoughts is about wondering whether if animals have the same problem as me. There is something bound to be wrong with me right. Who knows maybe there is something wrong after all? Maybe I should see a psychiatrist. But they charge too much. I don’t have that kind of money and I certainly don’t want my parents to know about it. They probably end up worrying too much and might end up Increasing my anxiety altogether.


I have talked to my grandpa about it. He is a patient dude. He suggested I should just try something new. It could be anything a hobby, a sport or an art form maybe, he said. I am a decent artist. I am good at sketching but always feel blank when I actually sit down to draw something it just frustrates me even more. I play guitar but I am too average to actually make something cool out of it. Maybe I should try something I haven’t done before. That was the thought when I noticed my grandpa had a wooden log in his hand on which he was chipping away with an old weird looking knife.

I asked my grandpa about the whole carving thing. He told me he always wanted to try making things with hands and he loved wooden toys when he was kid. He wanted to share that with me out of love. So, He decided to carve toys for me when I was born. He had given me multiple wooden toys and figures over the years. But, I have never realized how much thought grandpa put into carving those toys for me.

I decided I would learn from my grandfather how to wood carve. He told me he didn’t know himself how to teach carving. He said he would teach me what not to do and rest was up to me. I agreed he handed me pair of protective gloves to keep my hands safe from cuts and such. He also handed me pair of glasses to keep my eyes safe from getting wooden shaving in my eyes. Last thing he handed me was a piece of Canadian kale wood that was cream-ish white and was kind of hard to chip with an old knife.


On my first day, my fingers and joints hurt like hell afterwards. The pain kept increasing and the wooden piece was getting cleaner and shaped with every shaving chipped away from it. My Grandfather at the end of the weekend massaged my hands with coconut oil and it made my hands relaxed a bit.

One thing I noticed on my sixth days of chipping that I hadn’t touched my smart phone once all the entertainment I needed was my grandpa’s radio and good conversation about grandpa’s old stories. It was wonderful. I didn’t even have to think about my carving creation. Without thinking my hands moved on their own one chip at a time and soon I had carved up a teddy bear looking shape. It was really cute. My grandpa guided how to work the kinks for my first piece it turned out quite ok.

Second was the same, my worries and anxiety were melting away while I worked on the small piece of wood. I was more calm and patient now. Also my hands have gotten crazy strong. I might sound clique but things got easier after that I moved more calmed and composed. Took the life one chip at a time and everything started make sense and things started to turn out well.

It was a unique experience, a hobby that healed my heart. Maybe you can find one too. In this crazy depressive world we all need one healing hobby otherwise it’s just gets harder with time. You should find one too. It doesn't have to be wood carving. You can find your own thing. Keep trying new things till you do. Someday you will find yours for sure.


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