Celebrating Boredom

Project 365, Day 46

Driving back from lunch (that quickly turned into dinner after traffic backed up on the Pacific Coast Highway, and the line for Malibu Seafood wrapped, no joke, entirely around the building), a commercial came on during the podcast Charles and I were listening to. It was for a game called Best Fiends (not a typo). I’ve heard it before, heck, I’ve almost been convinced to download it many a time. But right near the end, the host delivering the message said something that caught my attention. I can’t quote it, because I don’t remember it word for word, but the message was clear: boredom is bad, never be bored again.

My ear may have never latched on to this statement had it not been for a tiny part of Glennon Doyle’s book, Untamed, that really resonated with me:

“The moment after we don’t know what to do with ourselves is the moment we find ourselves. Right after itchy boredom is self-discovery. But we have to hang in there long enough without bailing.“

She goes on to talk about her son being addicted to his phone and worrying that kids without boredom could lead to a society without innovation, creativity. This concept keeps ringing in my ears. When I grew up, the last generation without phones and iPads and screens, screens, screens, there was so much time for boredom. I lived my life bored. “Mooooooom, I’m bored!” echoed through our house at any given moment. “Go read a book/go rollerskating/go play in the pool/go see if your friend can play/go clean the bathroom (ha)” was always the retort. My generation’s parents didn’t feel the need to entertain us. Like…ever. They took care of us, of course. They fed us, made sure we did our homework and school projects, encouraged our creativity. But entertain us? Nah.

As a result, I read endlessly as a kid. I played “house” and “beauty shop” and (my favorite) “grocery store” and “teacher” and colored in coloring books, and did crafts like shrinky dinks, and baked terrible things with a lightbulb in an Easy Bake Oven, and helped my brother write scripts for movies we filmed on weekends and school breaks about being explorers or Bat Girl or, in a strange set of instances, car hijackers? We were children of the ’80s and ’90s, with literally nothing to do outside of waiting for TGIF’s Friday night line up. I was shaped out of boredom.

I miss boredom.

Lately, I’ve felt a need to rebel against filling every second of the day with stimulation. All day every day, it’s PING text messages PING FaceTime calls PING Slack messages PING PING PING emails, Instagram notifications, news alerts. When do our minds get a break? When do we get to be bored? Why is boredom something we’re told we need to escape from? Hurry to fill with something?

Sometimes, I’ll walk into the guest bedroom where Charles works, and I’ll see him engaged in three or four things. Headphones in listening to something, tablet on watching something, Nintendo Switch up playing something, all with the backdrop of something on his computer screen. This is a very Charles thing. He feels guilty, lost, worthless if he isn’t maximizing every minute of his day. If he’s doing something “mindless” like playing video games, he pairs it with something to fill that mind gap via his headphones. We are clearly very different people in that way.

My day job is so fast-paced, so full of tasks and notifications and LOOK AT THIS, and DO THIS OTHER THING, and SCHEDULE THAT and MEETING OVER HERE that I’ve taken to enjoying nothingness. It would not be a rare sight to walk into my home and see me on the front bench, just…sitting. Looking. Maybe it’s out the window, but oftentimes, I’m looking at nothing. Letting my mind sit bored. Trying to hear the space between my ears. That’s where the magic is. In those few inches, temple to temple. This year, with all this writing, has made me realize that it’s not just about discipline, Project 365. It’s about finding my voice. Having a thought, then exploring it fully in the form of the written word. I’ve never given myself that chance before. And I have to say, it’s so freeing. I’ve never felt closer to my truest self, than when I’m sitting here, tapping away on my laptop. It’s a screen, of course, but I do it without distraction. No music, no TV on in the background. It’s just me, my brain, my fingertips.

If we’re constantly bombarded with stimulation, when do we stop to listen to ourselves? Worse even, how do we know what we even sound like? Are our inner voices foreign to us? Pre-pandemic, when I had a commute, I often would drive with nothing playing through my speakers. I talked to myself, or just sat and let thoughts and images and ideas swirl in my brain. Babies need stimulation to thrive, to develop, but I’m starting to think that adults need the opposite to thrive, to develop.

Growing up, my dad was always the morning person in the house. There wasn’t a day I can recall that he didn’t wake up at 5:00 or 5:30. I wouldn’t actually know, of course, fast asleep, but it was well known in the Hernandez household that my dad’s eyes opened as the dawn broke. Even having gone to bed at 10 or 11. As a kid, I couldn’t understand how…why?!? So one day I asked him. Part of it was a result of growing up with farm animals. He had to get up early to tend to the animals. But the older he got, the more peace he would find in the stillness, the quiet of the morning. My dad is a religious man, and he said he used the dawn to sit, read his bible, drink his coffee, right his mind. He had a busy job, a wife and four kids…I don’t blame him for needing that pause in the morning before all of us filled the house with the cacophony of life.

As much as I try, I can’t willingly peel myself out of bed before 8 am. If I have to for an obligation, I do, but without that, I need to sleep. In January, I made the intention to wake up earlier so that I could write, but I’ve actually found a lot of peace in sitting in the soft light of my dining room after Charles retreats to the bedroom, silence loud in my eardrums, writing. Perhaps I’m not that different than my dad, just with flipped internal clocks.

I was halfway down my long hallway yesterday when my phone bleeped at me. I’ve been trying not to attend to bleeps immediately as of late. Letting things sit. I do not owe everyone my attention at every moment. (SAY THAT TO YOURSELF OUTLOUD AS MANY TIMES AS YOU NEED TO. GO AHEAD, I’LL WAIT).

But my curiosity got the best of me and I flipped my phone up so that I could see the screen. It was my weekly screen time report. Down 28% from last week, it said. Good, I thought. There was one evening a few nights ago where I left my phone on the other side of the apartment for hours. In the past, I might have reached for it as a reflex…phantom phone syndrome I call it…only to realize it wasn’t there. Wondering what notifications were waiting for me. But this night, I hardly even noticed.

This week, I challenge you to let yourself be bored. Let yourself sit in silence, in nothing and wait. Listen. feel. Listen to yourself. Feel deep down for yourself. It might take you a few tries, but don’t give up. Boredom is a wonderful thing. Boredom births ideas. Boredom ushers forward creativity. Boredom IS WONDERFUL. May we all have enough time in our days and weeks to come for a little bit, dare I say a lot, of boredom.

See you tomorrow, friends.