What were your pandemic hobbies?

I had two: baking sourdough bread (like everyone else) and rockhounding (not like everyone else, from what I’ve gathered).

Rockhounding is a hobby with a low barrier to entry: you look for cool rocks, either bringing them home for a collection or simply observing them where they are. No tools, no skills, and no knowledge required. Starting is as easy as going outside and picking up a rock.

I started rockhounding in 2020, when the need to socially distance and avoid congregating indoors required us to find new ways to spend our time. It was, and is, an activity well-suited for a world in which we needed to go outdoors and spend time in solitude. As my husband and I walked our dog, I’d scour the ground for hints of shimmer, occasionally picking up a rock or two along the way.

A year and a handful of months after the pandemic began, I received the gift of a rock tumbler for my birthday. This small machine could erode, smooth, and polish rocks I’d gathered in days, accelerating what would normally be a million-year long process. It could transform what looked on its surface like a drab, jagged, gray rock into something much more beautiful and complex.

I continued my casual rockhounding practices, usually picking up rocks that simply looked cool while going for walks.

Eventually, I had enough to start the polishing process. Into the tumbler they went.

That was 2022. I just finished polishing my first batch of rocks a few weeks ago, in 2024. (It normally doesn’t take this long; I was just slow.)

First, good results take time. Initially I’d get frustrated that, after a week of rolling around in the tumbler with coarse sandpaper-like grit, the rocks would still have pits and rough spots. But the results of letting the grit do its job were well worth it. In went sharp, pitted rocks; out came smooth and rounded rocks.

Second, you need to be mindful of what rocks you put together. Different rocks have different levels of hardness, which we typically measure using the Mohs scale: diamonds, known for their hardness and durability, are a 10 on the Mohs scale, while the soft, crumbly gypsum mineral is a 2. Putting these two rocks together in a tumbler would not yield good results: the diamond would remain rough and jagged, while the gypsum would be pulverized by the much harder rock bashing into it.

Instead, the best results will come from a tumbler barrel full of rocks of similar hardness levels. They’ll smooth each other down while not breaking or cracking other rocks (or themselves).

Finally, rock tumbling requires that we remove any expectations we have about what the end result will be. Sometimes the most unimpressive, drab rocks turn out to be the most interesting after tumbling and polishing. Conversely, sometimes rocks that seem like they’d polish up beautifully just don’t.

It’s comforting to rely on our assumptions that we know what outcomes the world will send our way, or that whatever expectations we have will be realized. But boy, how often are we wrong about that? How distressing is it when our hopes are dashed? If we cling too hard to what we want, we’ll suffer when that thing inevitably doesn’t happen or fades away.

Instead, we can let go of our expectations and detach from whatever outcome we think we desire. We can find meaning in whatever is in front of us in the present moment, whether it’s a surprisingly beautiful rock or an unexpectedly ugly one.