The Comfort of Creating Something With Your Hands

There are some hobbies you try once and forget about, and then there are the ones that quietly follow you around for years until you finally decide to commit to them. Pottery was one of those for me.

I had technically “done ceramics” a few times before, but never enough to really learn anything. The first time was in Egypt when I was younger. The teacher was actually a little kid younger than me, which was quite funny. He basically made the entire piece himself while I awkwardly touched the clay for two seconds before posing proudly with the finished product for a picture. It was fun, but deeply anticlimactic.

Years later, I tried pottery again in the middle of the French countryside with this retired woman who had the most beautiful little studio hidden in the middle of nowhere. The place smelled like clay and earth and creativity. I loved it immediately. But again, it was only a one-time experience, so I never really got the chance to experiment, improve, or understand what I was doing.

Me in Egypt 'throwing' and 'centering'

Then there was the pottery studio I tried with a friend not too long ago (I may have slightly lied when they asked if I had done pottery before). Technically, yes ~ twice. Realistically, I remembered absolutely nothing. I spent most of the session confused, trying to pretend I knew what centering clay meant while silently panicking every time my piece collapsed. Still, even through the confusion, I loved the feeling of working with clay.

And finally, a few months ago, everything aligned perfectly. One of my friends at the University of California, San Diego, who also loves pottery, told me his university offered affordable ceramics classes for the semester and said he could drive me there every week (bless his soul). It felt like the perfect excuse to finally commit to something I had wanted to learn for years. I got to spend time talking with one of my friends once a week while learning pottery at the same time ~ a perfect combination.

Every Tuesday after work, I would go to class, and somehow it became one of the most comforting parts of my week. The studio itself is beautiful. There’s this giant open window that lets in the breeze, and class happens right as the sun starts setting. We get to watch the famous San Diego sunsets while doing pottery, covered in clay and laughing at our collapsing bowls. Honestly, what could possibly be more perfect than that?

The atmosphere in the studio is just as special as the work itself. There’s an older woman who leads the sessions, and she brings this mix of humor, honesty, and intensity that makes everything feel alive. When she demonstrates, it’s almost hypnotic ~ her hands move through the clay so fluidly it barely feels like a solid material.

What I love most, though, is the process itself.

I love the texture of the clay, the messiness of it, and how completely acceptable it is to end class covered in it. I love how responsive it is ~ how even the smallest movement changes everything. Clay doesn’t hide anything; it reflects exactly what you do to it.

And maybe that’s why I connect with it so much. Pottery is humbling. Nothing turns out perfect. Things collapse, shift, crack, or end up completely different from what you imagined. But somehow, that’s what makes it beautiful.

I’m still taking the course now, and today I’m finally glazing for the first time, which I’m very excited about. The idea that I’ll soon be able to drink from cups I made myself or eat from bowls shaped by my own hands feels incredibly satisfying. I love that they will be imperfect, unique, and completely mine.

I also love that I can make things for other people ~ small, personal pieces that carry meaning. There’s something very special about that kind of creation.

Frog mug i'm making for a friend ~ he has an unhealthy obsession with frogs (he's making me a raccoon one!)

More than anything, I just love that I finally started.

Pottery was something I kept returning to in small moments over the years, and now it has become part of my routine, my weekly rhythm, and honestly, something I look forward to more than I expected.

It really is a comfort, to create something with your hands, slowly, imperfectly, and fully present in the process.