Back in the mid-90s, I asked my mother to teach me how to knit. Like many women of their time, both she and her mother were skilled at Aran knitting¹ and I was always impressed at the complex patterns that could be created from a length of yarn with two knitting needles – or three for the more complicated stitches. Even though this was the 90s and mindfulness wasn’t something anyone would have heard of in rural Ireland, it served the same function for me. I knitted an Aran scarf and a jumper (sweater in American) but didn’t actually wear either of them so I eventually gave it up as a hobby.
Regardless, I think it’s important for those of us who work using computers to have hobbies where you get away from the screens and use your hands in a tactile way – ideally to make something. Cooking, baking and bread-making are things that almost anyone can do. We all have to eat and it’s great to be able to share what you’ve made with others (I find the best hobbies also have some degree of social interaction).
When I cycled and mountain-biked, I used to do all my own bike maintenance and built my own wheels; I got a lot of satisfaction from building a perfectly balanced wheel. I also did a wood-work course and would have liked to have kept it up but I live in a small house without the space for a work-bench and tools.
More recently, during Covid, I started to learn guitar. Even though it doesn’t come naturally and progress happens at a very slow pace, I get a lot of enjoyment from it. My goal is to get good enough that I feel confident jamming/playing with other friends who are amateur musicians.
Why do you consider playing guitar as something tactile but not programming? Genuine question really. Isn't playing guitar also not producing anything tangible?
I’m both an amateur musician and a professional coder.
Definitely IMO code is a real physical thing that produces tangible results. (I personally think that code operationally is a physical thing, down to basics like logic gates and stuff. We abstract far away from that with high level languages but even making a pixel change colors is inherently, to me, altering physical reality)
But the experience of writing code and making music with your body is such a different one. You will feel and think about the code in a more imaginary and thoughtful way (you could write all your code in a notebook or a text editor and you would just be writing or typing on a keyboard) whereas the music (I play a wind instrument) is a tactile experience in the sense that it will physically be something you hear and you can actually feel the vibrations in your body; I might be wrong but I think that is what hearing is. And there is a real bio-feedback thing going on because you use your body to physically make it happen and you get immediate or very near immediate feedback (auditory, etc. You may even hear or see feedback from other musicians or even listeners). It’s just a viscerally different experience.
There’s nothing fake about seeing metrics on a dashboard or tests going from red to green or money or bits of data flowing around, at all. But it is experientially much different from the feeling of playing an instrument.
That’s my take anyway.
tiniuclx answered this very eloquently in a separate comment¹ so I’ll quote them in full:
> The point about being disconnected with tactile sensation is very poignant. I've experimented with crafts before, but my go-to hobby has always been music - stringed instruments like the guitar. There's something very rewarding about the instant feedback you get when you fret down a string, and how much nuance you can get out of the smallest movements of your hands.
Currently, I’m trying to learn how to improve my dynamic range: being able to play softer and louder and/or accent a particular beat while keep a steady rhythm. I found it hard not to strike the strings more quickly to make them sound louder and I still find it challenging to play evenly with consistent loudness and tone.
I’ve found the more I play, the more attuned I become to the subtleties of the sound being produced, e.g., I’ve learned that pressing down on a string too much results in the pitch being sharper than what it should be. I’ve been experimenting with different thicknesses of plectrums and if not using a plectrum, noticing how the tone is different depending on whether the string is struck with the nail or the fleshy part of the finger. That’s all on an acoustic guitar; so far, I’ve purposely avoided the rabbit-hole of how electric guitar tone can be modified by amplifier and effects.
Programming – for me – doesn’t really have the same nuances and challenges. Even though I don’t produce anything tangible, I guess the main benefit for me is that learning and playing the guitar exercises completely different parts of my brain than those I use as a system administrator or programmer. I’m completely focussed on what I’m doing when I’m learning and practising and there’s a real buzz from nailing something that I first thought was impossible.
As a side-effect, it has also improved my appreciation for different styles of music and my understanding of how music is made (e.g., I can tell the difference between music in 4:4 and 6:8 time signatures) and what other instruments are doing in a piece of music, e.g., drummers often play the snare on beats 2 and 4 in many genres of popular music.
it's not about producing tangible stuff, it's about working with physical materials and getting tangible feedback from the interactions between your body and the stuff you're working with. working with a computer didn't have that physical feedback loop.
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I think with guitar it is easy to enter flow state because it is easy to avoid playing the "wrong" notes. Probably similar to these other hobbies. Perhaps they just happen to have a tactile component, although it is nice to do something a little different from time to time. It seems computer games probably provide a similar form of satisfaction.
How do you built your own wheels? Isn’t that super hard without industrial tools? Sincere question.
The other answers describe the process well but here’s my personal perspective on how I got into it:
When cycling off-road, wheel rims would regularly go out of shape so I purchased spoke spanners to correct the side-to-side wobble by adjusting the spoke tension. This was important as back in the 90s as almost all non-professional mountain bikes used some form of rim brake: cantilever, and later, V-brakes. I would fix the wheels by removing the tyre and tube and mounting the wheel in the forks (front wheel) or wheel stays (rear wheel) so I could see where the wobbles were.
I eventually realised that the rims also needed to be trued radially, i.e., the rim forms a perfect circle and is consistently equidistant from the flanges of the hub. I was doing this often enough that I ended up buying a proper truing stand and I became the go-to guy for fixing wheels for friends.
Given enough abuse from mountain-biking, eventually wheels can no longer be trued by adjusting spoke tension. It seemed a shame – and environmentally wrong – to discard a wheel when it had a good-quality hub so I graduated to buying new spokes and rims to build on to the old hub (which would usually last for years) using the instructions from Sheldon Brown (as linked to in a sibling comment).
The process of building a wheel requires an understanding of the physical forces acting on the spokes and rim but the practice is more like an art. The more you did it, the better you got at avoiding issues like residual twist. It’s a bit like tuning a stringed instrument. I would even pluck the spokes and compare the pitch to get a feel for the amount of tension the individual spoke was under. It was very satisfying to get a consistent tone.
Wheelbuilding in this case uses "building" to convey the measurement and adjustment required to assemble parts of the wheel. Building from parts, not from scratch materials.
Sheldon Brown was my inspiration for many bike-related endeavours and his website is what drew me to Internet and the WWW in the first place. I used to to into Internet cafés and print out pages from his site – including this very guide. This was what I used for the first few wheels I built. Eventually, I got a copy of The Bicycle Wheel, by Jobst Brandt from my local library.
Putting a rim, hub (possibly in parts) and spokes together is (rightfully) called “wheel building” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheelbuilding).
I guess that’s what they did.