Boredom
I don’t understand boredom, never have.
Well, there was this one time in about 1984 when I uttered the word bored. Quicker than I knew what happened I was in the barn, ankle-deep in cow shit spending a hot summer afternoon contemplating all the fun things I could have been doing had I just taken a few minutes to find some fun instead of whining.
While I appreciate that lesson from my mother, it was essentially not necessary because I don’t remember suffering boredom other than that one time.
If anything, the opposite is true. I have more books in my possession that I could read in a year, my phone is clogged with downloaded podcasts waiting to be played and I have tentative plans with at least 3 professional acquaintances just next week. Couple that with my ability to find joy just staring at the clouds and it’s apparent I do not relate to boredom. I’m pretty convinced that only boring people are capable of being bored.
I started writing this blog this afternoon and intended to elaborate on all the reasons boredom is a luxury of wealthy people. But when I got home this evening, the first thing Harry said to me was, “I’m bored.” He was sitting next to a pile of toys taller than Mount Rumpke and in a room with a TV connected to the internet and an X-Box while listening to music on an iPad. Where did I go wrong?
With all of the technology options for entertainment and learning, it was beyond my comprehension that this child could possibly be bored. So, I suggested he play with or consume any one of the above-mentioned items. He was uninterested and insisted there was nothing to do.
I figured I’d use my mother’s tactic of assigning a task. “Harry, if you’re bored, fold the towels and take out the kitchen trash,” I proposed. He grumbled a bit, but did what I asked. As I was helping him lift the trash out of the can, I got to thinking about that day when I told my mom I was bored. Admittedly, I cannot recall my emotional state from 35 years ago, but I suspect there was more to that declaration of boredom than I remembered.
Harry is a lot like me. He generally has multiple projects going at once, he tends to be driven by emotion and he sometimes struggles to accurately communicate his needs to those around him. It’s tough when I see my faults in my boys, but at least I can express genuine empathy when these natural tendencies cause them grief. And I can sometimes offer advice on how to cope, but with most of my personality flaws, I’ve not figured it out either.
As I considered my mini me’s whining, it became apparent there was something else at play. While he didn’t have the vocabulary or emotional maturity to say it, he clearly wanted my attention. I suspect I wanted my mom’s attention back in 1984 too.
Even though my life is far less complex than it was just a year ago, I still have a lot on my plate. Sometimes I get caught up in the make dinner, do dishes, fold laundry routine but more likely I get caught up in my own thoughts. Often, I’m physically present but my mind is far away working out how to approach a client project, building a conversation I had into a blog post, fiddling with my phone or contemplating if I should join the masses and start a podcast or YouTube channel.
Nothing feels worse than when you’re with someone but you know they’re not fully engaged. We’ve all been mid-sentence, just about to make a great point when our companion glanced at his/her phone (or watch or computer or a hot babe walking into the restaurant). That momentary and seemingly small slight suggests we are not enough, or maybe we’re boring.
So yeah, I suggested Harry and I play baseball on his X-box. Sure, I had things to do, but I’m constantly reminding myself that soon enough he will cringe at the thought of hanging out with me.
As we played MLB RBI, I realized I was lying when I started writing this post. Sure, I don’t get bored when I have the freedom to choose what I’m doing, but I do find some events, obligations and conversations to be boring. I also find a lot of work mind-numbing and pointless. It’s easy for me to make snide remarks and pass judgments on people who aren’t feeling engaged for whatever reason, but this incident reminded me just how often the things we criticize in others are the exact characteristics we dislike most about ourselves.
While I do no feel bored with the plethora of entertainment options out there, I have a habit of quickly growing weary of work that ceases to be new and exciting. Sure, I’m fired up when I start a new job or project, but once I’m 2-3 months in doing the same tasks every day, the mountain of work piling up around me is less attractive and my attention wanes. I forge ahead but my focus starts to shift and when I see all the cool projects other people working on, I think maybe the grass is greener.
Guess what—the grass isn’t greener. And back to the original point, I’m fully capable of experiencing boredom. Oh, and maybe the reason my friend keeps looking at her phone is because I’m also boring. So maybe the next time I start feeling holier than thou and begin a rant on why I’m smarter/prettier/funnier/healthier/sexier or more educated/sophisticated/well read/woke than others, I’ll pause to consider my own shortcomings.
And that, my friends, was a glimpse into the stream of consciousness inner workings of my brain…
