The art of boredom #TandemBlog
It might be an art form… but its certainly not mine.
I have others. Busy-ness. Distraction. Procrastination. It is in these areas that I am a domain expert.
Boredom is memory.
Sunday afternoons in Pietermaritzburg watching my dad read the paper after lunch, sitting on the rust-red carpet. There was nothing for me to do. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The first term’s school holidays in Std 6 when I hadn’t made any friends at the new school yet. Endless games of Solitaire and lying on my bed wishing my real parents would come and get me.
Its been decades since I felt anything close to this.
Boredom is fantasy.
It’s been elevated in my mind to the same un-achievable state as mindfulness.
An empty inbox. A notification free phone. A clear diary.
Boredom is torture.
But the universe is wise. She sends me the quiet reminder that boredom is not a zen state… It only takes one conference call with eight people in six countries to remind what boredom really feels like.
It’s not an art, it’s a torment. It’s not an empty page full of possibility. It’s a trap — close, inert, powerless.
Boredom is a teacher.
It’s not boredom I crave — it’s space.
Note: This piece is part of the #TandemBlog project. 9 bloggers. 5 weeks. 1 share topic. Follow your nose and read the next blog in line: http://bloggsymalone.wordpress.com, https://medium.com/@nick_frost, https://brettfish.wordpress.com/, https://cathjenkin.wordpress.com/, http://squidsquirts.blogspot.com/, https://medium.com/@Kerry_Contrary, http://www.jamespreston.org/, http://www.meganshead.co.za/
(Go on… you know you want to.)