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:,,,,,,,

(Go on… you know you want to.)