I’ve been surfing for almost 20 years now, but you wouldn’t guess it if you watched me. I’m the 30-something-year-old woman frolicking in the whitewash with the little tackers, whooping when I manage to stand up on a wave like a kid cycling for the first time without training wheels. After mornings full of spectacular stacks, I’ve spent many an afternoon slowly draining saltwater from my brain. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Supportive friends and well-wishers have suggested I take lessons, offered to be my mentor, or insisted I could improve if I trained harder. The implication is if I’m passionate about something, I should also be proficient. I say thanks, but I’m happy being a below-average surfer.

My career has mainly been in laboratory and medical sciences, which allows little to no room for error. Perfectionism and productivity have been drilled into me from a young age, both directly and diffusely. There has been a consistent cultural undertone of “anything worth doing is worth doing well”, and this, combined with a “hustle culture” that equates busyness with success, leads to the expectation that our precious spare time should be spent honing our skills or increasing our output. Anything less than that would be lazy.

The gig economy and a rise in the uptake of side hustles sparks further encouragement to “monetise our hobbies”. While that can certainly be satisfying, and a great way to make some extra cash, it can also be considered an oxymoronic concept. Merriam-Webster’s definition of a hobby is “a pursuit outside one’s regular occupation engaged in especially for relaxation”. Introducing the pressures of selling your services can effectively dull – or completely kill – that all-important “relaxation” factor of a hobby. If we turn everything into a productivity race, our downtime can inadvertently devolve into extra work time.

While I get a sense of fulfilment from developing certain skills, I want to reserve some activities purely for imperfect pleasure. I would go so far as to say I need to reserve some activities purely for imperfect pleasure, for the sake of my mental health. Psychologists have been spruiking the positive effects of hobbies on psychological wellbeing for years; we get those essential happy hormones from losing ourselves in a chosen activity, giving us a sense of meaning and purpose, while being blissfully distracted from everyday stressors.

When I focus too much on getting better at something, it creates room for failure. I don’t want to fail in my relaxation time – I just want to go with the flow and soak in the fun. No pressure, only carefree, uncomplicated enjoyment. I simply want to enjoy the ride.

I make clay earrings that often turn out mismatched or lumpy. Yet I still enjoy the production process; the feeling of the clay between my fingertips, the pleasure of creating something uniquely mine. The wholesomeness of taking amorphic lumps of clay and letting my creativity take the reins, organically constructing something beautiful (beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all).

I’m lucky if my vegetable garden yields enough produce to make one full salad every six months. But I still harvest portions of delight every time a new leaf unfurls or a flower blooms. Watching new life sprout forth from seeds gives me a sense of wonder and pride. And I’m happy – although somewhat begrudgingly – when my dog derives such innocent enrichment from “helping” me dig up the soil.

Approaching an activity without the dangling pressure of needing to be good at it motivates me to try new things with an open mind. A good friend and I recently agreed to try a new activity every month, regardless of how well we thought we’d do at it. This has led to some amusing adventures trialling sword-fighting and tai chi, with our next one booked in as dodgeball. Jiu-jitsu struck a particular chord with her, and she’s decided to continue with it. Who cares if we’re the worst ones there? The joy is in giving it a go and relishing a fresh experience.

I’m not saying I don’t want to put any effort into my recreational pursuits; learning and improving at something provides a fantastic feeling of accomplishment. It just doesn’t have to apply to everything; I don’t need to improve at something in order to enjoy it. If I find an activity that brings me simple happiness, I can permit myself to treasure it as it is – whether I objectively suck at it or not.

• Kerri Duncan is an Adelaide-based freelance writer, scientist and below-average surfer