Gazing at the beast within. Part 1 of 3 on brick madness.
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My first Lego Story post recalled how I got brick-obsessed. Since then I've had some time to introspect about this hobby.
So here's a three-part meditation on obsession (this post), self-control (next post), and contentment (later).
What do I mean by obsessing over Lego? A combination of these things:
- Thinking more about sets I don't have than enjoying sets I already have.
- Spending most free moments browsing Lego news, fan designs, market prices, etc.
- Having FOMO (fear of missing out).
- Feeling driven. In my case, to fund the hobby by selling off more and more things.
- Feeling excited but restless. It's recreation that doesn't always relax; while building does, browsing doesn't.
I suspect many AFOLs (adult fans of Lego) had a similar experience when they first dove into the hobby.
It's natural to plunge into a frenzy when you suddenly discover -- all at once, rather than being drip-fed -- a vast world of beautiful and ingenious things.
You hope it is merely like
being in love, of the crush variety. At some point, the ardor cools. But if infatuation blossoms into obsession... well, I suppose you must find
clever ways to bend space, time, and wallet.
Some say doing Lego beats doing drugs. True but hardly comforting, unless you were actually doing drugs before and Lego's your new narcotic.
Appetite. Whether it's for plastic or for purple, what you feed is what will grow.
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But let's switch gears for a moment and look for silver linings. Rarely is a bad thing entirely bad, and an obsessions aren't inherently bad. I can immediately think of three good things that have come out of this obsession:
First, spring cleaning. Selling things we don't need in the house has felt SO good. And it's a legitimate way to pay for new Lego!
Second, empathy. I have one more thing in common with my husband: wanting expensive toys. I can now listen to him with proper attention, interest, and understanding when he talks about Transformer and Power Ranger toys. We commiserate over the way the industry works; in my case, Lego sets have only 1 to 3 years before they go out-of-print and prices skyrocket.
Third, beauty. Beauty enriches, whether it is in the form of stunning models and cute dioramas or good photography.
There's a lady I talk to about life. We try to look beyond the surface of events and ponder what they mean. When I told her I was worried about Lego obsession, I expected a response like, "So how do you curb it?"
Instead, she said, "Why don't you try to look at it more neutrally for a moment, rather than put negative labels on this?" After some reflection, I said, "What I'm looking for in this hobby is beauty. And that's a good thing."
She also suggested that all desires, even seemingly bad ones, can be traced back to God-given desires. In other words, it can be useful to ask, "Where are these feelings coming from?" That gave me food for thought.
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Our talk reminded me of my life goals. One of my goals is to create beauty. I want to create and not just consume. But in the excitement of my new hobby, I've been distracted from these goals.
So despite all the good to be found in a hobby, good can be the enemy of great. An obsession might not be bad, but it's still worth asking if I have boundaries and balance. Balance: that thing most of us find so elusive!
In some stories, obsession grows into a real beast. And not all beasts can be tamed. So from time to time, I mull over that well-worn writing advice to "kill your darlings."
What I'm saying is: maybe I'll never stop obsessing over Lego unless I give up the hobby, or some tragedy occurs that makes a tectonic shift in my perspective on life.
But I'd like to try taming the stallion. I'll write about those efforts in my next post, on self-control and boundaries. How can I be healthily obsessed, not dangerously possessed? (I try to set achievable standards!)