Home » In Defense of Dabbling: The Brilliance of Being a Total Amateur

In Defense of Dabbling: The Brilliance of Being a Total Amateur

July 7, 2025 | By Women Writers Women Books | Reply More

Karen Walrond, award-winning author of Radiant Rebellion and The Lightmaker’s Manifesto (featured on NPR’s Life Kit!), delivers a delightful jaunt in her upcoming book, In Defense of Dabbling: The Brilliance of Being a Total Amateur (Sept. 23). Walrond encourages readers to resist capitalist grind culture and experience joy in doing what they love — without the pressure of being excellent.

Resist grind culture and discover the joy of dabbling.

In today’s grind culture, hobbies become side hustles. Work creeps into leisure time. Perfectionism reigns. We look up to experts, and we look down on amateurs. And when someone asks us what we like to do, we realize we have absolutely no idea.

But amateur just means “one who loves.” So what if being a total amateur is actually a good thing? What if we’ve been so focused on achieving that we have forgotten how to be interesting?

In her new book, Karen Walrond strikes out to discover the things she loves that demand no excellence–just desire. As she cultivates practices and rituals, without any expectation of success or accolades, she shows us how to do the same. And she helps us learn Seven Attributes of Intentional Amateurism: curiosity, mindfulness, self-compassion, play, zone-stretching, connection, and awe.

Follow Walrond as she dabbles in throwing pottery, swimming laps, playing piano, learning to surf, and photographing the Milky Way (spoiler: it doesn’t all go well). Listen in on her conversations with other amateurs–and experts too–about how intentional amateurism enhances mental and social health. And to get you started on your own intentional amateurism practice, she also serves up a list of more than two hundred ideas for things to dabble in–ways to discover your own path to being a total amateur.

Walrond reminds us that it’s in the living that we create a life, so failure isn’t a concern; in fact, it’s kind of the point. If we get better at a hobby or a craft, that’s simply a byproduct, never the goal. Transcendence awaits: What joy might we find if we simply started doing the things we love?

EXCERPT

A Case for Intentional Amateurism

By Karen Walrond

I am not an expert at anything.

I mean, I do a few things decently. In a former life I was a good lawyer, but let’s be honest: I was never in danger of being appointed to the Supreme Court. I’m an adequate photographer, but certainly not a great one. I even Hula-Hoop, but I can’t do one single trick.

While washing up the dishes after dinner one evening, I made this observation to my partner, Marcus. “That is patently untrue,” he responded, as he leaned against the pantry door. “You’re good at a lot of things.”

“Am I?” I countered. I shut off the faucet and turned to look at him. “Name one area I’m an expert in.”

I waited.

He stared back, silent.

Finally, he spoke. “Well,” he said, “does it matter?”

Now it was my turn to be silent. Did it matter? Isn’t this what we’re all supposed to do: make our marks on the world in distinguished ways? Shouldn’t I, at my big age, have mastered something noteworthy by now?

Isn’t being an amateur just plain wrong?

Weeks after that kitchen conversation, I was still ruminating on the true meaning of being an amateur. On one hand, the word amateur is often used as a stand-in for “incompetent,” or “unskillful,” or even “shoddy.” Think about it: Would you ever consider buying a car that featured “amateur workmanship”? Or how would you feel if you made a mistake at work and your boss described it as an “amateur move”?

Being associated with the word “amateur” is the last thing any of us want. And yet, the expectation of being an expert in everything we do is exhausting.

Honestly, I blame “hustle culture”: the societal expectation to be productive at all costs. From social media to self-help books, the advice is ubiquitous: The acquisition of money, power, and mastery is the only way to live a successful life.

This sentiment is echoed by others: A friend of mine described a conversation she had about this very topic with a coworker. “As a young Black woman, I feel a lot of pressure to excel in my career—to honor my family, as well as my culture,” her colleague reflected. “And I think sometimes I’m so focused on doing that, I’ve forgotten how to be interesting.” I have to say, this broke my heart a little.

As if that’s not enough, all this hustling can lead to perfectionism, which is a whole other concentric circle of hell.

My friend Brené Brown, a pioneering researcher on shame, courage, and vulnerability, is emphatic when she distinguishes perfectionism from healthy striving: “Perfectionism is the belief that if we live perfect, look perfect, and act perfect, we can minimize or avoid the pain of blame, judgment, and shame,” she writes. “Perfection is a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from taking flight.”

Amen, sister. And if we’re constantly worried about how others might perceive us or our interests, then how can we possibly live with our whole selves?

I was quickly discovering that all signs seem to point to a simple truth: Being an amateur might just be good for our brains. As proof, consider a study, published in 2023, in which researchers found that people who pursued hobbies reported better health, more happiness, fewer symptoms of depression, and higher life satisfaction than those who didn’t. It appears that by rejecting perfectionism and hustle culture, and instead embracing a practice purely for enjoyment’s sake, it’s possible to live happier and healthier lives.

Intentional amateurism, in other words, could just be the secret sauce to a merry soul.

My friend Jenn Romolini is a testament to this: An award-winning author, editor, and media consultant, she’s also the cohost of the popular podcast, Everything Is Fine. I met Jenn

while promoting my book Radiant Rebellion: Reclaim Aging, Practice Joy, and Raise a Little Hell and was lucky enough to be interviewed by her. After recording stopped, she and I kept chatting, and our conversation turned to amateurism.

She mentioned that she had taken up weaving wall hangings. And, according to her, she’s really bad at it.

“No, seriously, I’m awful,” she grinned. “Like, my weavings are ugly. My goal is to make them beautiful, but right now they’re truly not great. I haven’t figured out what colors look good together. There are so many techniques that I don’t know how to do. I have furry parts where there shouldn’t be furry parts.”

“And yet you love doing it,” I said.

“I love doing it,” she agreed, her eyes sparkling. The misplaced furry parts didn’t seem to dim her delight one iota.

For the record, I totally related to her joy: In my own amateur photography practice, the fact that my efforts occasionally result in an underexposed or blurry image never discourages me—sometimes it even delights me. Even my Hula-Hoop practice—arguably the most amateur of my pursuits—can result in total rapture, especially if it’s beautiful outside, and even more especially if I’m hooping to a new Beyoncé album.

And all this joy arises by mere happenstance. Imagine what happens when I put a bit of deliberation behind my amateurism! My book, In Defense of Dabbling: The Brilliance of Being a Total Amateur, chronicles what happens when I become recommitted to the art of amateurship.

The time has come to pay attention to myself, to learn not what I could master but instead to enjoy what I enjoy. To learn what I love, and to love it well.

Pure intent, open mind, passionate interest.

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