[DadBodIntellect]

Chicago prof here, late 30s, tenure-track and permanently undercaffeinated. I run half-marathons for fun; she throws clay until 1 a.m. and has strong opinions about glaze chemistry. We like each other a lot. Our Venn diagram currently intersects at tacos, snark, and NPR pledge drives. Everything else? Parallel universes.

I’ve dated within my own hobby bubble before and it turns into a committee meeting about splits and cadence. This time, dating someone with different hobbies feels refreshing… and mildly chaotic. Sunday mornings I’m up at 6 for a long run; she’s just getting home from a late studio session, dusted in porcelain like a festive ghost. I tried sitting in on a wheel-throwing class and produced a lopsided ashtray that looks like it survived a small war. She tried jogging with me and said her spirit left her body at mile two and refused to return.

Questions for those who made this work: how do you support each other’s thing without turning it into a performative attendance log? What’s the line between “I want to learn your world” and “I’m hovering in your hobby like a well-meaning potted plant”? Do you schedule intentional overlap dates—gallery + short run + brunch—or keep the lanes mostly separate with occasional cheerleading?

I’m not trying to convert her into a Garmin disciple, and she’s not trying to draft me into the Kiln Cult. I just want a sane rhythm where we feel connected, not competitive. Scripts welcome: how you say “tonight is your night, go nerd out, I’ve got dinner” vs “could we swap Friday so I can hit a race expo?” If you’ve found rituals that bridge the gap—playlist swaps, five-minute demos, tiny collabs—tell me. Also curious how you defuse the inevitable “you care more about X than me” moment before it becomes courtroom drama.

17

[CoffeeAndCringe]

My ex was into rock climbing; I’m into sitting down. We survived a year by trading “micro-demos.” He showed me knots without trying to recruit me; I taught him latte art without a manifesto. The line for me was gear creep. If a hobby starts colonizing the hallway, negotiations begin. Words to steal: “I’m cheering from home tonight, bring stories.”

30

[NairobiPlanner]

Event planner brain here. Put both seasons on one shared calendar three months out. Anchor two “untouchable” date blocks weekly, then add “floaters” you can swap when glazing or tapering ramps. Write a one-sentence ask: “Can I trade Friday for expo, I’ll cover Saturday studio pickup?” Clarity prevents resentment. And yes to cheerleading without hovering—drop, don’t linger.

30

[Melbourne_Meditator]

I date a drummer. My yoga brain craves quiet; his snare craves thunder. What helps is minding nervous systems. After a long run, your body wants calm carbs and low-stim talk; after a midnight throw, she needs decompression and maybe silence. Make a landing ritual you both honor. Ten minutes of tea in the doorway can feel like devotion.

21

[KeyboardWarrior666]

Don’t overthink it, professor. You don’t need a UN charter, just boundaries. Pick two nights that are sacred, don’t touch them. Everything else is draft. If she tries to conscript you into the Kiln Cult, plead the fifth. If you start evangelizing VO2 max, she gets to throw a mug at you. Figuratively. Mostly.

19

[BisexualBookworm]

I dated a beekeeper while being terminally indoorsy. Our truce was narrative exchange. After his hive checks, he’d tell me one astonishing bee fact; after my book club, I’d read him a paragraph I loved. Dating someone with different hobbies works if you translate your passion into stories, not recruitment drives. Enthusiasm is contagious; conscription kills it.

26

[MidwestMarriedGuy]

We’re twenty years in. I fish, she quilts. The only fights we remember are about surprise schedule changes. Put it on the board, protect the board, and when life happens, offer a swap plus a kindness. I bring coffee to her guild mornings; she packs snacks for my early drives. Small chores beat grand speeches every time.

22

[BuenosAires_Bassist]

Music plus ceramics is a nice duet. Let your metronome teach her trimming rhythm; let her kiln teach you patience between sets. I wouldn’t mash them into one day. Play your morning set, bring empanadas to the studio at dusk, steal ten minutes while glazes cool. Leave a note on a clay-splattered apron. That’s the encore.

19

[SoftButchSue]

My girl’s a powerlifter; I’m a plant nerd. The rule is no “fixing.” When I pull weeds, she doesn’t redesign the backyard. When she lifts, I don’t program her sets. We show up for big meets and big repottings, then we get tacos. If you’re dating someone with different hobbies, choose witness over coach unless asked.

25

[DublinDataMom]

Small sample, but my niece dates a triathlete while she runs a tiny bakery. They share a “quiet hour” at 9 p.m.—phones down, tea up—no matter whose day was wild. Also, they rotate who gets the Sunday prime slot. It’s mundane and it works. I love your idea of scripts; write them, stick them on the fridge, call it peace.

13

[420Heartbreaker]

I dated a birdwatcher. Me, chaos gremlin; her, sunrise binoculars. We survived by swapping “golden hours.” One morning a week I pretended dawn was legal; one night a week she pretended midnight existed. We high-fived at noon like shift workers. Dating someone with different hobbies is basically time-zone diplomacy with snacks.

13

[DataBeforeDates]

I ran a tiny experiment when I was dating someone with different hobbies (me: cycling metrics; her: improv). We instituted “observer tokens.” One token per week to observe the other’s hobby for exactly 25 minutes, no critique, one question max. Satisfaction scores rose because participation had edges. Also, schedule a recurring neutral ritual—Sunday dumplings—immune to races or kiln firings.

21

[Author]

Posts