The Fisher Price Edition of Free Will
With Great Boredom Comes Great Responsibility
Shortly after the birth of my second son two weeks ago, I couldn’t help but think that, in a weird way, he had it kind of easy.
I knew he was tempting death with every unwashed touch and ill-fated sneeze.
I was aware that his sensorial experience involved passing in and out of consciousness in various states of hunger, pain and fear.
And I suspected that his nascent consciousness only allowed for what was essentially a Fisher-Price version of free will that, aside from bawling uncontrollably, generally consisted of the following three largely self-determined actions:
a) vigorously track his surroundings with darting eyes and wildly unpredictable head movements;
b) voraciously suck down all bottles and teats within a two inch spherical radius of his mouth, and;
c) viciously pummel his diaper with an aural and viscous barrage while maintaining an admirably furrowed brow.
Now how could this semblance of a life possibly be construed as easy?
The degrees of danger, discomfort and sheer confusion of those first few days out of the womb undoubtedly make for a trying time for all of us. However, even though those inaugural moments likely inflict trauma on most every human being as a first rite of passage, I would argue that there is a much more precarious state of existence for us grown ups to deal with today.
Boredom.
From those very first breaths to the moment we can sit ourselves down on our evolutionarily upright haunches and read this entry, we have taken a long and often tumultuous journey towards earning a few precious moments of boredom. However, most of us do not see boredom as the just reward for resolutely grinding up a few microdegrees of free will in each passing moment of our waking lives. Most of us, including me, fear it.
You see, my son’s state of existence was dreadful in a lot of ways. However, on the other hand, he also didn’t have a lot of choices. Nor did he have a lot of skills and abilities at his disposal. He was quite literally starting with, in video game vernacular, zero experience points.
So what may have been dreadful was also essentially inevitable in the short term. If my infant son were somehow suddenly able to attain an extraordinary level of self-awareness, he might have almost felt comforted in an “oh-well-is-what-it-is” kind of way.
The same cannot be said of most adult humans as much as we sometimes would like to convince ourselves otherwise. Almost every single one of us, if compared to those first harrowing days of existence, now has vastly more choices at our disposal.
And that is indeed terrifying.
For what to do with this hard-earned expanse of self-determination? Those of us who have had the good fortune of satisfying the elementary needs of food, clothing and shelter now have a much more difficult, much more existential conundrum on our hands. With the necessities out of the way, now what?
In the absence of a purpose born out of necessity, many of us have defaulted to more mundane objectives in life. In a lot of cases, we have just doubled down on material pursuits which have generally not made us any happier. In fact, a 2010 study by two Princeton researchers showed that, above $75k in annual income, the link between further wealth and a better emotional well-being breaks down (Deaton, 2010). Said another way, after a certain point, mo’ money does not necessarily mean mo’ happiness. So what to do?
When my wife and I were discharged from the hospital, they gave us an instruction pamphlet entitled “Mother and Newborn Education/Discharge Instructions.” It was filled with helpful information on how not to screw up the precious life that you had just been bestowed. This pamphlet was presented as a series of basic principles on feeding, bathing, safety and, of course, pooping. Such guidance is vital to help shepherd our precious babies through those first moments and eventually on to more fruitful activities like picking their noses or borrowing our cars as teenagers.
The trouble is, none of us get such an instruction pamphlet when we become adults. Full of promise but lacking direction, we grown-ups fumble about and try to make sense of the wide open nature of life to varying degrees of success.
We have no “Education/Discharge Instructions for Becoming a Quality Person.” Hypothetically, such a book would address two vital questions that each of us must necessarily face; “How do we find what will make us feel truly fulfilled?” and “How do we attain that once we find it?” Given that we are all individuals with distinct personalities and preferences, such a book could not be prescriptive in nature as no single prescription is a cure-all. However, it could perhaps find another way to be both broadly applicable and singularly relevant to each of us.
What we need is a universal touchstone for decision-making. However, rather than individually address the infinite range of decisions that face humanity, we need to deconstruct the nature of choice into its atomic parts. Much like all matter is constructed from the common building blocks of electrons and protons, what if all decisions had a similarly fundamental nature? If such a concept existed, surely it could help my two sons as they begin to make their own life decisions in incrementally more meaningful ways.
And that is why I chose to write these essays and, ultimately, my first book. I wanted to explore some examples of well-known individuals and organizations that have successfully found a lasting purpose beyond the bare necessities. Whether a world-class sushi chef, a legendary golfer or a storied burger chain, these people and groups share two increasingly atypical traits; marked displays of excellence over a long period of time and deep-seated feelings of fulfillment that come with a sense of purpose. Indeed, they have filled those daunting moments of ennui with a fuller appreciation of life.
However, the goal of these essays is not to provide a how-to as to the specifics of each of their achievements. Rather, they are hopefully the start of a conversation between myself and others as to the possible connections between excellence and purpose, between quality and fulfillment.
By drawing upon the underlying principles common to the subjects of each of these essays, I hope to unearth a more universally effective framework for finding fulfillment, to unlock the afore-mentioned touchstone for decision-making. After all, if these people have each found purpose and fulfillment while engaging in such a diverse array of activities then why can’t the rest of us?
As I look to my son and his daily struggles with simply existing, I am constantly reminded that boredom is a privilege, not a penance. Respect it.
