I Promise I Don't Have a Lego Problem

The day my wife and I got married, her family followed us home to carry all our gifts up the three flights of stairs to our apartment.

We'd moved in just a week before. Washed and put away our dishes. Set up a card table in our dining room. Selected tributes in a lottery to deliver our massive antique piano. But we still weren't totally unpacked.

My wife's younger siblings noticed the boxes stacked halfway to the ceiling in our bedroom. "Know what's in all those?" my wife said. "That's just Nathan's Lego."

Their eyes got as big as Lego baseplates.

We had regular visitors after that.

Image credit: CinemaBlend

I've gotten a wide range of reactions when I've opened up about my Lego addiction. I've gotten even more diverse reactions when people have seen the size of my collection for the first time: awe from some, eye rolls from others.

But the one question people ask whether they think I should be high-fived or institutionalized is: Do you have a freaking problem?

And, naturally, I get all defensive and threaten them with Kragle.

I've blogged before about how liking something should be enough reason to enjoy it. But the reasons for my choice of hobby go beyond just liking it. Lego isn't a mere toy to me; it's an outlet for expression, and it always has been.

For third grade writing assignments I drew inspiration from stories I read about characters like Johnny Thunder in Lego Mania Magazine. I played out the things I wrote with Lego sets I had at home.

Image credit: miniland.nl

In sixth and seventh grade I built scenes and wrote a script that would become a novel and push me toward higher goals for many years to come. To this day I still use Lego to help me describe characters and scenes, or create brand new ones.

In high school I expressed my faith through Lego models of selected scripture stories. I got to share this project with the world thanks to the Internet, and on top of all the pleasant conversations it inspired, it found recognition in my Church's popular media.

Lego also helped me in my English classes. It got easier to focus on assigned reading like Huckleberry Finn and The Great Gatsby when I imagined how I could build each scene in Lego.

Spoiler alert.

But why not express myself through charcoal, paint, or clay?

Other than the obvious explanation that I suck at every other form of visual art, I can reuse Lego. I can build whatever I want, snap some pictures, take it all apart, and start on something else--all without regular trips to the craft store, goopy messes, or running out of room to display my work.

You might say Lego actually saves me space and money. I don't really have a problem.

Lies! All lies!

Okay, so I may have sold a kidney to afford an Ultimate Collector Series Millennium Falcon and leased a second apartment just to keep my Lego in.

But it's all about the art. I promise I don't have a problem.