The problem can be traced to my grandparents. Their hobby of collecting was immediately apparent upon entering their home. Their basement was a graveyard of disused equipment and tools... because, you see, old hobbies never truly go away, even if you stop doing them because you've acquired new ones.
My dad continues the tradition. He has gone through more hobbies than I can recall in my lifetime: cars. photography. winemaking. gardening. stained glass. model airplanes. golf. I noticed my brother following the same path from a young age: dinosaurs. baseball cards. camping. pez dispensers. running. beer. Well, the beer came later, but you get the idea.
It took a while to admit that I was also afflicted with this peculiar disorder, but it ought to have been obvious from my first potholder loom... plastic needlepoint. latch hook. painting. dancing. origami. puzzles. drama club. cooking. eek. My mom, on the other hand, is remarkably unencumbered by hobbies, and certainly dealt with her share of frustration with the excessive Stuff that her children tended to accumulate. She once called me to ask what she should write on a job application asking what her hobbies were. (She suggested cleaning, but I think we eventually put down cooking and reading.)
The first step is admitting that I have a problem. I don't really care about the other 11 steps because I don't plan to reform. You see, I've got a big garage now in which to store all of my paraphernalia... and it beats watching TV. So why not add one more hobby and create a blog about all the rest? At least it neither requires nor generates any more Stuff.
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