There’s this thing that happens when you’re the kind of person who gets excited about making things. You start collecting crafts the way some people collect hobbies, or houseplants, or increasingly specific kitchen gadgets they’ll use exactly twice. One month you’re deep in a candle-making phase, the next you’re convinced you need to learn relief printing, and before you know it, your dining table has become a permanent craft supply staging area and your partner is gently asking if maybe, possibly, you could see the wood grain again sometime this year.
(The answer is no, obviously. The table is working very hard right now.)
This year, I set out with what felt like a reasonable goal: follow my curiosity without setting my credit card on fire. Try new things that connected to what I already loved doing. Be thoughtful about what I brought into my life, and equally thoughtful about what I chose to leave out.
Spoiler alert: I still tried thirteen different craft experiences. Because apparently “being mindful” and “trying all the things” can absolutely coexist in the same chaotic, well-intentioned brain.
But here’s what surprised me. By the time December rolled around and I found myself surrounded by half-finished projects, carefully organized supplies, and one very ambitious embroidered piece I’m still working on, I realized something: not everything that’s beautiful needs to stay. Not everything that’s impressive needs to become a regular practice. And honestly? That’s been one of the most freeing things I’ve learned all year.
Why I Looked Back at My Crafts This Way
Let me be clear about something upfront. I love novelty. I love that little spark you get when you try something for the first time and your hands are figuring out a new rhythm and suddenly you’re making something that didn’t exist five minutes ago. That feeling is intoxicating. It’s also why my craft closet looks like a very optimistic Pinterest board exploded.
But this year, I wanted to be more intentional. I wanted to try things that connected to what I already did. I like journaling and collecting pens (understatement of the century), so I took a workshop on mixing my own ink colors. I make candles, so I tried sculpting them into cakes and flowers to see if that skill could fold into what I already knew. I’m curious about printing, so I tried relief printing and embroidery because they felt related, adjacent, like distant cousins at a family reunion.
I also set some boundaries. No tufting, because I have exactly zero core strength and I’ve seen those videos. No fiber arts, because that means buying entirely new materials and the whole point was not to turn this into a consumption Olympics.
The theme wasn’t “master everything.” It was “follow the thread and see where it goes.”
And then, at the end of the year, I asked myself a different question than I usually do. Not “which of these am I good at?” or “which produced the most finished pieces?” but rather: “Which of these actually fit into my real life?”
That question changed everything.
The Quiet Difference Between What Excites You Once and What Stays
Here’s the thing about novelty. It’s thrilling. It’s energizing. It makes you feel like you’re expanding as a person, learning new skills, becoming the kind of multi-talented creative who can do seventeen different things beautifully.
But excitement at the beginning doesn’t always translate to joy in the middle or satisfaction at the end. Sometimes you try something, love the idea of it, post about it enthusiastically, and then… never do it again. Not because it wasn’t good. Not because you failed at it. Just because it doesn’t quite fit the shape of your actual days.
I made a candle shaped like a cake this year. It was gorgeous. Extremely impressive. The kind of thing that makes people go “wait, you MADE that?” I felt like a wizard. I also have zero desire to make another one, because the process required a level of planning, precision, and patience that I simply do not have on a regular Tuesday when I just want to make something soothing before bed.
That’s not a failure. That’s information.
Some crafts are meant to be tried once, admired, and then released back into the wild with gratitude. Others slip into your life so naturally that you barely notice they’ve become part of your routine. You reach for them on ordinary days. They’re there when you need to think through something or settle your mind or just move your hands while listening to a podcast.
Figuring out which is which has been this year’s real project.
Why This Ranking Is About Fit, Energy, and Season (Not Output or Mastery)
Because this year made something very clear to me. A craft can be impressive, technically challenging, or “worth mastering” and still not belong in my life right now.
Ranking by output or mastery assumes a few things: that more finished pieces automatically mean more fulfillment. That difficulty equals value. That the goal of every craft is improvement or excellence.
That mindset quietly turns hobbies into another performance metric. Another thing to optimize. Another place where you’re measuring whether you’re doing enough, progressing fast enough, producing enough visible proof that you’re spending your time “correctly.”
No thank you. I get enough of that energy everywhere else.
So this ranking is about fit, energy, and season instead.
Fit
Does this craft slide into my real days without friction? Not my ideal schedule. Not a fantasy weekend where I have four uninterrupted hours and perfect lighting and no emails. My actual life. The one with work deadlines and grocery shopping and the inexplicable way laundry multiplies when you’re not looking.
If something only works when everything else is perfect, it’s not a good fit. It’s a special occasion. And that’s fine, but I need to be honest about what it is.
Energy
Some crafts give energy back. They’re restorative. You sit down feeling scattered and you get up feeling more like yourself. Others ask for focus, setup, cleanup, or decision-making I don’t always have. They’re worth it, but they cost something.
Neither is “better,” but I need to know which is which. I’m choosing more of what restores me and being realistic about when I have the bandwidth for what depletes me (even if it’s in a good way).
Season
Not everything needs to be year-round. Some crafts are meant for gifting seasons, social moments, or quiet phases. Some shine in December when you’re making things for people you love. Others are perfect for a slow summer afternoon when you have nowhere to be.
Letting something be seasonal keeps it joyful instead of burdensome. It means you can look forward to it instead of feeling guilty that you haven’t done it in three months.
By ranking this way, I’m not asking, “Am I good enough at this to continue?”
I’m asking, “Does this support the life I’m living right now?”
That question has been far more honest, and far more useful.
How I Ranked Them
Here are the questions I kept coming back to:
Would I choose this on a slow, ordinary day? Not when I’m feeling particularly inspired or motivated. Just a regular Wednesday when I have an hour and want to make something. Would this be what I’d reach for?
Did it give me energy or ask for more than I had? Did I finish a session feeling satisfied and restored, or did I finish feeling like I’d just run a mental marathon?
Did I enjoy the process enough to return to it? Not just the finished product. Not just the Instagram-worthy moment. The actual doing of the thing. Because if you don’t enjoy the process, you’re just enduring your way toward an outcome, and that’s not really a hobby. That’s a chore with pretty results.
Did it support my “less, but better” intention? Did it align with the kind of life I’m trying to build, where I’m not constantly accumulating more things to do, more supplies to organize, more half-finished projects that make me feel guilty every time I see them?
With those questions in mind, here’s how the thirteen craft experiences ranked.
The Rankings
Core Crafts (These Naturally Stayed)
These didn’t require motivation or a special mood. They were just… there. Woven into my weeks. The crafts I do without thinking about it, the way you make tea or put on music.
Container candle making
Still my favorite. Still the thing I do when I need to think or when I want to make something useful or when I just want my hands busy while my brain unwinds. It’s meditative without being precious about it. You can do it while listening to a podcast. You can do it badly and it still works. You can give them away or keep them or burn them yourself. They fit everywhere.
Art journaling / junk journaling
This is less a craft and more a way of processing my life at this point. I don’t sit down and decide to journal. I just find myself there, gluing things in, writing fragments, making a page that captures how a week felt. It’s become as natural as breathing. Slightly chaotic breathing, but still.
Beaded friendship bracelet making
Yes, I know these are technically for children at summer camp, but I don’t care. They’re satisfying. They’re portable. You can make them while watching TV. They’re bright and cheerful and they take almost no setup. I’ve made approximately seventeen of them this year and I regret nothing.
Why these worked: They’re flexible, comforting, and easy to return to without planning. They don’t ask for a special mindset or perfect conditions. They just… exist in my life, the way good friends do. You don’t have to schedule time with them. They’re just there when you need them.
Seasonal & Useful Crafts (Meaningful, Just Not Constant)
These are especially good for certain times of year or specific purposes. They shine when you’re gifting, marking a moment, or slowing down intentionally. But they don’t need to be part of your weekly routine to matter.
Intention bracelet making
I made these for my Between Chapters workshop or when someone’s going through something, or when I want to mark a moment with a small ritual. But I don’t need to make them all the time. They’re special because they’re occasional.
Wax melt making
Perfect for the gifting season. Also perfect for using up candle wax scraps and feeling extremely resourceful and eco-conscious.
Soap, bath bomb, shampoo & body scrub making
These are my December crafts. When I want to make gifts that feel personal and thoughtful without spending a fortune. When I want the house to smell like essential oils and I want to feel like a Victorian apothecary. But the rest of the year? They can rest.
Intention ritual cards
I made a set of these for the New Year and I can’t wait to use them. Hoping they’ll become part of my morning routine. But making more? That’s a seasonal thing. A once-in-a-while project when I want to refresh the deck or make a set for someone else.
Ceramic mug painting
I did this at a paint-your-own-pottery place. It was fun. The mug is cute. I use it regularly. Someone once asked me where I bought the mug, my heart sang. Would I do it again? Maybe once a year, when someone suggests it and I’m in the mood for a social creative activity. It doesn’t need to be more than that.
Why these shine: They’re meaningful when you’re gifting, marking a moment, or slowing down intentionally. They don’t need to be constant to be valuable. In fact, keeping them seasonal is what keeps them special.
Skill-Heavy but Deeply Satisfying
Peranakan-style bead embroidery
Oh, this one. This is the craft equivalent of reading a very long, very beautiful novel that demands your full attention and rewards you on every page. It’s slow. It’s intricate. It requires focus and patience and a kind of meditative commitment that I can’t always access.
But when I can? When I have a quiet afternoon and good light and nowhere to be? It’s transcendent. Every tiny bead is a small decision. Every section you complete feels like an accomplishment. The finished piece (or even the in-progress piece) is something you’re genuinely proud of.
I’m not doing this every week. Maybe not even every month. But it’s staying. It’s worth keeping for the moments when I have the bandwidth for something that asks this much and gives this much back.
Why this remains special even if it’s not frequent: Because not everything needs to be easy or quick to be worth doing. Some crafts are meant to be savored. Some are meant to be the thing you do when you have the time and energy to fully show up. And that’s okay.
Spectacle Crafts (Beautiful, High Effort)
Fun to try. Impressive to finish. Not something you want to repeat often. Or possibly ever.
Candle shaped like a cake
I’m so glad I made this. It was a learning experience. It was visually stunning. People were impressed. I felt accomplished.
I also have no desire to do it again. The precision required, the specific timing, the way you have to think three steps ahead at all times—it was interesting once. It was satisfying to figure out. But it’s not relaxing. It’s not restorative. It’s a performance of skill, and sometimes that’s fun, but it’s not what I want from my regular crafting life.
Candle shaped like a flower
Same story. Gorgeous. Challenging. Rewarding in the way that climbing a mountain is rewarding. Also not a thing I want to do every weekend.
Why admiration doesn’t always equal sustainability: Just because something is beautiful and impressive doesn’t mean it needs to become part of your regular practice. Sometimes it’s enough to have tried it once, learned from it, and moved on. You can appreciate a craft without adopting it.
Did It for the Plot (For Now)
Crafts I enjoyed, but are choosing not to continue because they ask for more right now.
Relief printing
I loved trying this. I loved the tactile nature of carving the linoleum, the satisfaction of pulling a print, the way you have to think in reverse. It was everything I hoped it would be.
But here’s the thing. Relief printing requires supplies I don’t have. It requires space I don’t have. It requires a setup that doesn’t play nicely with my current apartment situation. And the whole point of this year was not to keep accumulating new materials for new hobbies.
So I’m choosing “not now.” Maybe “not for a while.” But not “never.” Just… not in this season of my life when I’m trying to do less, not more.
Why choosing “not now” is part of doing less, not quitting: Because you can appreciate something without committing to it forever. You can try something, enjoy it, and still decide it doesn’t fit your life right now. That’s not giving up. That’s being honest about your capacity and your priorities.
One-Day Experiences That Still Mattered
Not everything needs to become a practice. Some things are perfect as one-time experiences that shift how you see the world without asking for anything more.
Workshop: mixing my own ink color
This was magical. Truly. I spent an afternoon learning about pigments and binders and how to adjust viscosity and create custom colors. I made an ink that was exactly the shade of a particular kind of burgundy I love.
Did it become a regular part of my creative practice? No. Do I now have supplies for making ink at home? Also no.
But did it change how I look at color? Absolutely. Do I notice ink differently now when I use it? Yes. Do I understand something about materials that I didn’t before? Very much yes.
Some experiences are meant to be exactly that. A moment that teaches you something or shifts your perspective and then lets you move on, carrying that knowledge with you.
How this changed how I see color and materials without adding another commitment: It gave me an appreciation without a to-do list. I learned something valuable and then I got to just… have learned it. Without pressure to turn it into another hobby, another regular practice, another thing to maintain.
That’s its own kind of gift.
What Surprised Me Most
I thought I’d rank these by skill level or how “good” I got at them. I thought the crafts I improved at most would naturally rise to the top.
But that’s not what happened.
What surprised me most was realizing how much I value social and low-pressure making. The crafts that stuck weren’t necessarily the ones I got best at. They were the ones I could do while chatting with a friend, or listening to music, or just being present in an ordinary moment.
I also learned that usefulness can be as satisfying as artistry. I used to think the “serious” crafts were the ones that produced beautiful art objects. But honestly? There’s something deeply satisfying about making soap I’ll actually use, or candles that will light my space, or intention cards that guide my mornings. The crafts that fold into daily life, that make the ordinary a little more beautiful, those are the ones I keep reaching for.
I’m less interested in being impressive and more interested in being present. Less interested in mastering techniques and more interested in enjoying the process. Less interested in accumulating skills and more interested in deepening the ones that already feel like home.
That’s been the real discovery.
What I’m Carrying Into Next Year
Fewer crafts, deeper enjoyment. I’m not trying thirteen new things next year. I’m spending more time with the ones that already fit.
Letting some things stay seasonal or occasional. Not everything needs to be year-round to be valuable. Some crafts are perfect exactly because they’re rare.
Choosing warmth and rhythm over novelty. I still love trying new things, but I’m learning to love depth too. To let myself return to the same craft over and over, finding new layers in the familiar instead of always chasing the new.
Closing Reflection
Here’s what I know now that I didn’t know in January: crafting isn’t about how many skills you can collect or how many finished pieces you can produce. It’s about paying attention to what fits your life now. Not the life you wish you had or the person you think you should be. The actual life you’re living, with all its constraints and quirks and unexpected Tuesday evenings.
The crafts that have stayed are the ones that work with my life, not against it. The ones that give more than they take. The ones that feel like coming home instead of striving toward something.
And maybe that’s the whole point. Not to become someone who can do everything, but to become someone who knows what matters to them and chooses that, again and again, with intention and joy.
So here’s my question for you, because I’m genuinely curious: if you only had an hour and no pressure to produce something impressive, which craft would you reach for? Not the one you think you “should” do. Not the one that would look good in a photo. The one that would actually feel good.
That’s the one worth keeping.
What crafts are you carrying into next year? Which ones are you lovingly releasing back into the wild? I’d love to hear in the comments.
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