16 Childhood Activities That Became Adult Passions: How the Experience Changes

Gardening. I grew up helping my grandmother in her garden in NEPA, but completely abandoned it when I became a single mom building ENX2 from scratch–I was too consumed with survival mode to even think about plants.

About five years ago, I forced myself to start again during a particularly brutal season in business. What’s wild is that childhood gardening was just following instructions, but now it’s become my entire business philosophy. I literally tell my team and clients, “whatever you plant, you’re going to harvest”–it’s not a metaphor anymore; it’s something I physically watch happen in my backyard with Saint (my dog) digging holes nearby.

The difference is patience. As a kid, I wanted tomatoes to grow overnight. Now when I’m planting bulbs in fall knowing I won’t see blooms until spring, I’m thinking about the law firm client who’s frustrated their SEO isn’t working in week two. That physical reminder that growth takes time and consistent care has saved multiple client relationships–I can point to my actual garden photos and say, “look, we planted these seeds in your market three months ago; here’s what’s starting to emerge.”

It’s become my secret weapon for managing my own anxiety as a business owner too. When I can’t control the chaos of running a company during a pandemic or wondering if I’m doing enough, I can control whether those pepper plants get watered. That tiny bit of predictable success keeps me sane enough to handle everything else.

I built an illegal satellite dish at 15 in Cuba using a coffee can, mosquito net, and parts from a Soviet radio to watch forbidden TV channels. Got caught up in survival after escaping to the US at 18 and didn’t touch electronics tinkering for years–I was too busy learning English and trying to make it in corporate America.

Fast forward to my media career, and I’m back to that same scrappy mindset, except now I’m teaching millions of Latino families on Despierta America how to MacGyver their own tech solutions. The difference? At 15, I was breaking rules to access information for myself. Now I’m showing parents how to repurpose old tablets as baby monitors or turn broken laptops into learning stations for their kids–practical hacks that save them $200-300 they don’t have to spend.

What stuck from childhood was seeing objects for what they *could be*, not what they were designed for. In Cuba, that washing machine motor became a fan because we had no choice. Now I apply that same functional fixedness skill to help families stretch their technology budgets–your old smartphone isn’t trash, it’s a dedicated music player for your kid’s room or a security camera by the front door.

The hands-on problem-solving feels identical, but the stakes shifted from “will I get caught by authorities?” to “will this single mom be able to afford reliable internet for her kid’s homework?” That emotional weight makes every tech tip I share on air feel like I’m still that kid in Havana, just trying to open windows to a better world.

For me it was being outside, which I basically abandoned once software engineering swallowed my twenties. As a kid I was happiest in the woods, poking around in soil and pretending I was some wandering botanist who knew what he was doing. Now I spend half my week doing forestry mulching with a remote-controlled mower, which feels like a childhood dream that somehow grew hydraulics and adult insurance paperwork. The other half I still write software, but it is starting to feel like the side quest rather than the main mission.

Coming back to the outdoors as an adult is different in all the best ways. I appreciate the landscape in a way younger me never did. Home ed families are trying to reclaim the natural, curious rhythm of learning, and I suppose I am doing the same thing in my own life. I left the screen to return to the woods and found that the work I do in both places starts to make more sense when I let that childhood passion lead again.

I used to build elaborate model airplane kits as a kid–carefully following assembly instructions, getting frustrated when parts didn’t fit perfectly, and obsessing over paint jobs. I dropped it completely in high school because it felt “childish.”

Fast forward to running Clinical Supply Company, and I realized I’m basically doing the same thing at enterprise scale. When we developed EZDoff(r) gloves, I spent months working with engineers on the textured doffing aid design, iterating prototypes until we achieved that 73% contamination risk reduction. It’s the same obsessive attention to detail, except now lives depend on it instead of just desk shelf aesthetics.

The big difference? As a kid, I followed instructions. As an adult, I write them. When we launched Aloe Shieldtm, there was no playbook for creating the first clinically-tested aloe-infused glove line–we had to figure out manufacturing specs, FDA compliance pathways, and quality control protocols from scratch. That creative problem-solving makes it infinitely more satisfying than anything I built from a hobby store kit.

The patience I learned gluing tiny wing struts together definitely translates to navigating tariff surges and supply chain chaos. You can’t rush precision work, whether it’s a 1:48 scale fuselage or a national dental supply operation.

I let drawing fade out of my life once school and responsibility took over, and I did not pick it back up until years later when I started spending more time at Sunny Glen Children’s Home. Sitting with kids who used art as a quiet place to land reminded me of how it once felt for me. The difference hit almost immediately. As a kid, I drew without thinking about outcome. I just followed whatever showed up on the page. Returning to it as an adult brought a different kind of clarity. The practice slowed my thoughts and gave structure to moments that felt rushed. It also gave me a way to connect with the kids at Sunny Glen Children’s Home that went deeper than conversation. They could see me doing something that was not polished or perfect, just honest. That shared space made the activity feel softer and more meaningful than it ever did when I was young.

In my opinion, when I reflect on my own path, one childhood activity I abandoned and later rediscovered was writing purely for myself, not for performance or validation. Growing up in Germany, I used to write constantly, short reflections, half-formed ideas, observations about people and ambition, without thinking about outcomes. Somewhere along the way, especially once I became more focused on performance, results, and building a career, that habit quietly disappeared. Writing became transactional, emails, proposals, decks, not expression.

What changed as an adult, especially after moving to Munich and building spectup, was realizing that thinking clearly again required slowing down and putting thoughts on paper. I didn’t return to writing as a hobby; I returned to it as a tool for clarity. The experience felt completely different. As a child, writing was instinctive and unfiltered. As an adult, it became intentional, reflective, and much more grounded in lived experience.

I remember restarting almost accidentally, drafting internal notes after long consulting days, trying to make sense of decisions, doubts, and patterns I was seeing across founders. Over time, those notes turned into content, then conversations, then opportunities I never planned for. What surprised me most was how much calmer and more confident I felt once I allowed myself to think out loud again.

The biggest difference this time was perspective. As a child, writing was imagination. As an adult, it became integration, connecting experiences, failures, and lessons into something coherent. Rediscovering it reminded me that passions don’t always return as they were. Sometimes they come back sharper, quieter, and far more useful than before.

For me it was motorsport. I started karting when I was young and absolutely lived for it, but like many people, life moved on. Work took over, responsibilities piled up, and racing quietly slipped into the background. It wasn’t until much later, in my forties, that I found my way back onto a circuit, this time in proper machinery. Going from childhood karting to Porsche Supercup, ELMS, Le Mans felt like closing a loop I didn’t realise was still open.

As an adult you understand the discipline, the precision, and the mindset behind it. I appreciated the craft in a way I never could have at 12 years old. The nerves, the setup work, the strategy, the race craft, all of it becomes part of the enjoyment rather than just the speed.

What surprised me most was how naturally everything came back. The instincts were still there, just waiting to be woken up. Rediscovering it didn’t just reconnect me with racing; it sharpened me in other areas of life and business too. Motorsport taught me patience, focus, and how to stay calm under extreme pressure, and returning to it as an adult made those lessons land in a completely different way.

I used to sort my baseball cards by team, then by player, then stare at the stats for hours. Now I build tools that help people find their old photos and posts online. It’s the same urge, just with pixels instead of cardboard. That kid habit of making order from messes solved a real problem. If an old hobby is still calling you, maybe it’s trying to solve something.

I used to spend hours as a kid tinkering with blogs and basic website builders. Coming back to it as an adult, I see that optimizing a site isn’t just about code or keywords. It’s about the person using it and making sure the right people find it. That old tech curiosity is still there, but now it’s tied to something real, like helping a brand reach its actual customers. If you’re picking up an old hobby, focus on what’s exciting about it now. Your adult perspective is what makes it different.

I was always the friend people called to dump their problems on. I just listened back then. Now, as a therapist, I’m still listening, but it’s completely different. I have methods that actually help people. Seeing someone genuinely get better is a different feeling, more meaningful than the informal support I gave as a kid. I’m still using that same instinct, but now it gets real results.

I used to draw and mess with sounds, but for a long time I was focused on technical stuff. When I picked it back up as an adult, making coloring pages and quiet music, something was different. It wasn’t just a hobby anymore. I got it when I saw my work helping people de-stress. That’s why I started Colorful Sunday. Combining art and music, seeing it actually calm someone down, that feels better than I ever thought it would.

I used to just grab any cool movie poster as a kid. I never thought it would become my job. But running Famous Movie Posters now, I see more than just paper. Each one is a piece of history from a specific moment. Turning my old hobby into a career and helping someone find that one poster they’ve always wanted, that just feels right. It’s pretty great.

I used to be obsessed with medieval history and toy swords, but then life happened and I put it aside. Coming back to it as the head of Ancient Warrior felt completely different. Suddenly my passion was about figuring out who makes the best replicas, handling the paperwork, and actually talking to other collectors about what they love. It’s not just a fantasy anymore, it’s about getting real, well-made swords into the hands of people who get it.

I was a very enthusiastic player of football as a child. It took up most of my time, but as I grew up I lost track with the sport and became academically and work oriented. Several years later, I fell in love with the game again. I did get into a local amateur league where I hoped to experience the same feeling I was enjoying before.

The experience was very different as compared to my childhood. On the physical level, my body felt that it was not as flexible and agile. My excitement that day was not gone, but now it was combined with the added value of appreciation of teamwork, strategy and the mental part of the game. Football was not an enjoyable hobby anymore but something that helped in relieving stress and self-development. I was able to appreciate the sport more, and my awareness of the hard work to achieve success on any level also increased.

Photography was used as a conceptual point of intersection between two time cycles of my character, which was separated by about fifteen years. I practiced photography in weekends with a simple film camera given to me by my father at the age of twelve years. My initial involvement into this was strictly on curiosity at that first point without a systematic knowledge of compositional principles and photographic light.

When I rediscovered the medium in my late twenties, the opportunities of the digital photography proved to be greater than I had imagined. I carried over analytical techniques I acquired in the course of my work with search engines optimization into my photo work, scanning visual patterns in the interesting pictures in a systematic manner. What started as a latent interest in childhood grew to become a professional craft.

I used to draw comics but quit for a “real” job. Years later, running YM-Graphix, I started drawing again. That old hobby wasn’t just fun anymore. It made me think about what clients actually needed and how to make websites everyone could understand. My childhood fun turned into design that works for people.