Boredom to the Mind Is Like Sleep to the Body

Our competitive, service-oriented societies are taking a toll on the late-modern individual. Rather than improving life, multitasking, ‘user-friendly’ technology, and the culture of convenience are producing disorders that range from depression to attention deficit disorder to borderline personality disorder. Byung-Chul Han interprets the spreading malaise as an inability to manage negative experiences in an age characterized by excessive positivity and the universal availability of people and goods. Stress and exhaustion are not just personal experiences, but social and historical phenomena as well. Denouncing a world in which every against-the-grain response can lead to further disempowerment, he draws on literature, philosophy, and the social and natural sciences to explore the stakes of sacrificing intermittent intellectual reflection for constant neural connection.

We are indeed “sacrificing intermittent intellectual reflection for constant neural connection,” and what has all this neural immersion in blinking screens and achievement addiction gotten us? Apparently, a lot of unhappiness and increasingly adrift souls.

In Dr. Han’s book, he explains how we moved from a “disciplinary society” characterized by shoulds, commandments, prohibitions, the boss shaking a fist, time cards, and authority to an “achievement society” where our motto is “Yes, I can,” coupled with the freedom to pursue what we want, self-rule (ie: remote work), hacks to save time, shortcuts, and a general addiction to productivity that’s self-induced. Why? Because we’ve bought into this endless get-ahead philosophy that all the social media influencers advocate.

But it comes at a cost.

We’ve forgotten how to relax.How to allow ourselves to be bored. How to open up time for nothing, which ironically is where the best creativity comes from.

We get home from work and decompress for a bit. But then, before long, the laptop is opened up. Emails are checked. Or, we’re scrolling relentlessly online, looking for tips, information, secret knowledge, hacks, and ways to get ahead. To achieve more. Or maybe we’re doom-scrolling. War is imminent. Better get that standalone generator. Stock up on stuff. You never know. Plan. Adjust. Jump over to our investments. Should I move around some cash for quick access?

Even when we try to get away from all of that, there are the fitness achievers and diet gurus all proclaiming which workout, at which optimal time, and what specific supplements will increase your VO2 max output, so you can live a few years longer to achieve God knows what else.Maybe we’d be better off in the garden, or reading a good novel in the library. Whilst sipping a tea and petting the cat purring softly on our lap.

The gurus tend to overlook our spiritual and emotional needs.

The author and Georgetown computer science Professor Cal Newport shares Dr. Han’s concerns. Dr. Newport’s excellent new book, “Slow Productivity: The Lost Art of Accomplishment Without Burnout,” argues that we should dump “pseudo-productivity” (endless work emails, meetings, and reports) in favor of slow productivity, which he describes as:

1. Do fewer things

2. Work at a natural pace

3. Obsess over quality

Visit any bookstore and the productivity/motivation sections have blossomed in this age of achievement addiction. Everyone wants to be an achiever because if you’re not hustling to get ahead, you’ll be viewed as a slacker. An unmotivated loser.

And yet, more and more people feel burned out.

Even when people are eating meals these days, they’re scrolling and checking emails. Sending replies. Adding comments to the oceans of other social media comments that mean nothing. Or worse, they’re arguing with strangers. To what end? We have fractured attention spans now. It’s harder for folks to sit down and read a book without getting distracted and checking their phones for that little dopamine hit. Heck, I see people in movie houses glued to their phone screens during the action scenes in the movie.

And then there’s AI.

Artificial intelligence, we’re told, will make us even more efficient and help us achieve greater success and happiness. We might achieve more derivative, shallow, unserious work. We might get more busy work done. But what about truly original, creative work uniquely our own?

Jean-Christophe Caurette, founder of Editions Caurette, an independent publisher, had this to say:

Artificial Intelligence has no more intelligence than a cactus. The term ‘assisted plagiarism’ is much closer to the truth.

I tend to agree, which is why I never use generative AI in my writing. Yes, I know some writers swear that it helps with prompts and idea generation, but then, scouts honor, they write their own work.

Sure they do.

I’ve read plenty of essays and blog posts online that clearly were lifted from ChatGPT or any of the other plagiarism dispensers. It’s depressing. When did writers turn into content mill creators chasing likes, algorithm gods, and the chance for quick clickbait funnel bucks at the expense of their artistic souls?

Don’t they care about their readers?

Perhaps you’ve heard the saying, “I’d rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I’m not.” Well, along those same lines, I’d rather have a small following who appreciate my authentic writing than be a ChatGPT hack writer dispensing twaddle to a huge following.

Because, for me, the art has to come first.The voice has to be mine. The feelings real. There has to be a soul behind the work.

This brings me back to the main topic of this essay, the overlooked importance of boredom in our lives. If we ever hope to regain our happiness and deeper creative joy, we need to prioritize more downtime for doing nothing in particular. For boredom. For exploration and intellectual/emotional reflection.

That’s exactly what I did last week.

I drove to California to enjoy four days off. My official reason was to attend the 50th birthday party of my brother-in-law, Danny, who’s proudly Irish. He rented out the top floor of a local restaurant. He even hired an Irish band for entertainment and made sure the restaurant bar had copious supplies of Guinness stout.

 

My unofficial reason for taking four days off in California was to do not much of anything.

To read, explore, catch up with family and old friends, revisit my past, and think about where I’ve been, where I am, and where I want to go.And maybe be a little bored, too. With the hope that said boredom would open the portals of creativity.This is why I made sure to bring my beloved Fujifilm X-Pro3 rangefinder-style camera since having a camera strapped to my shoulder always puts me in a creative mood to capture moments and images that inspire me. And those images often become the genesis of future story ideas and essays.

I should confess right here that to take four days off in California, I had to work ahead like a hound the days before to get all my writing done, edited, and uploaded to my website and newsletter platform. Because I’m no better than anyone else. I’m a recovering productivity and achievement addict, just like so many others.

But I’ve been making some changes that are helping.

For instance, I try to create more than I consume. If I’m digesting YouTube videos all day (I loved to watch videos about writers, artists, and photographers I admire, which invariably led me down a thousand rabbit holes, and then it was one in the morning and my wife can’t sleep as I stumble to bed) or scrolling mindlessly through my (now abandoned) Instagram feed, liking all kinds of disparate nonsense like an addicted rat thumping on the bar for another hit, then where is the time for me to read quality books that enrich my mind and where are the hours needed to think, write, edit, re-write, polish, sometimes destroy and start over, but eventually publish something I can feel reasonably proud of?

This is why I abandoned my Instagram page.

Well, it’s still there, as I’m waiting for Instagram to honor my submitted request to send me a download of all my content, as I want to save the various videos I filmed and uploaded. But otherwise, I already copied and pasted my best Instagram photos and commentary in an epic post on my website titled, “My Instagram Graveyard.”

I did this because Instagram is a time suck.

After a while, even the artists and photographers I admire kind of kept posting the same stuff, and it gets redundant hitting the like button and leaving a comment (and hoping maybe they’ll return the favor for the same old stuff I kept posting). And when I checked my analytics, maybe three people referred to my website from Instagram, so it wasn’t doing much for me. I’ve kept Facebook, as it seems to refer more folks to my website who maybe subscribe to my free Saturday Letters. But overall, I find social media often narcissistic, redundant, derivative (everyone is copying what everyone else is doing), and the horrid algorithms penalize writers if you post a link to your latest work. So in the end, I sort of hate social media, but I’ll keep Facebook for now, despite all the gurus warning that without social media writers will lose all discoverability and slip into abject irrelevance.

Abject irrelevance doesn’t sound that bad.

More time to read good books and write heartfelt, honest work instead of ChatGPT, algorithmically driven drivel that will be forgotten in 24 hours. Also, I’ve noticed that many of the writers I admire most either don’t have any social media presence, or they have a light presence just to promote their books. They don’t waste time writing and replying to comments. They hire someone to do that, or they just don’t bother.

Because writing quality stories, essays, novellas, and books takes real time, commitment, and effort. Certainly, if you want to craft anything that might stand the test of time. Meaning if someone can read the piece five, ten, twenty, or more years from now and it still resonates, well then you’ve got something there to be proud of.

One caveat. Social media is great for family and friends to stay connected. And it’s great to find people you admire and want to follow. It’s also great for lonely people to connect with new friends online. Social media has some value. But for me, I find it’s more of an impediment to reading books, writing, and doing stuff in the real world.

Okay, back to my California trip.

John! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Nevada!

Danny’s birthday party was a blast, and I took a bunch of photos of family and friends.

It’s always great to be back in the town where I spent over 26 years living and serving in the local police department. Also, my in-laws put me up in their lovely home and spoil me with home-cooked meals. And I get to feed the nearly tame squirrels that come to their sliding glass door in the living room for their daily rations of peanuts.

But I concocted a mission on this visit.

I determined that I would drive on Sunday to the neighboring town of Saratoga, where I attended high school so long ago, to try and surprise a friend who volunteers at a church nearby. A friend I have not seen in person for some years now. A friend I’ve known since the second grade and have written about in a past essay. He still sends us a Christmas card and me a birthday card each year, but his activity online largely ceased and he doesn’t respond to phone calls or emails much. He has been experiencing some memory issues. So I wasn’t sure if he’d be at the church, or what the surprise reunion would be like.

I arrived before the 8:30 AM service, parked in the church’s rear lot, and walked up to a pleasant man greeting arriving parishioners.

“Welcome and hello there, my name’s Jason,” he said as he extended his hand.

“Hi, Jason. I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for Seth. He’s been volunteering here forever and we’re buddies from way back in the 2nd grade. I’m in town from Nevada and hoped to surprise him.”

“Ah, that’s wonderful. Well, he should be up around the corner, near the children’s classrooms. Feel free to look for him, or ask another staff member and they’ll help,” Jason said.

“Wonderful, thanks, Jason.”

I walked around a bit. There were quite a few people, an outdoor coffee concession stand, and donuts for after the service. A kind woman wearing a church jacket and identification badge said, “Hi, can I help you?”

I repeated my story and she said, “Oh, yes, Seth is in the church. He should be seated on the right.”

I thanked her and made my way inside. I felt my heart rate increase. I was so excited to see my old friend. So many emotions swirled. So many memories. Including memories of my parents and I coming every Christmas Eve to this very church to listen to Seth sing in the choir. But then, the church was under different ownership back then. Now it’s part of a church collective including a few other locations.

Sure enough, on the right, seated alone in the back, I spotted Seth’s head of thick gray hair. I quietly strolled around and sat directly beside him on the right. He looked at me, and I looked at him. He looked down for a second, and then he looked up again and a broad smile emerged.

He said, “John! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Nevada!”

I burst out laughing, and so did he. I told him about Danny’s 50th birthday party, and that I decided to drive into Saratoga and surprise him. I gave him a long hug and told him how happy I was to see him. The service was about to begin so I said I’d join him for the service and maybe afterward we could enjoy some coffee and a donut outside. He said “Absolutely.”

After the service, Seth and I went outside, grabbed some coffee and a donut each, and settled into a picnic bench to catch up. We reminisced about the many church Christmas services we enjoyed, our days in school, and much more. I told Seth that I made arrangements to meet another friend of mine, Steven, who is my earliest childhood friend. Steven and I were meeting for lunch in another nearby city, Los Gatos. Seth immediately remembered Steven and chatted about the amazing stand-alone tree house that Steven’s father built for him when he was little. We used to all play in it.

Words can’t do justice to the joy I felt seeing Seth again (his middle names are David John).

Old friends are magical because they are the keepers of exclusive memories that no one else has.They remember stories, events, and special times that cannot be found in social media posts and YouTube videos. And if we don’t make time away from our busy lives, for random trips, boredom, exploration, and reunions with old friends, we risk losing those connections.

Because memories eventually fail, and then they are lost to the ages.

 

Seth repeated a few things here and there, and I’m sure I did, too. He was a joy to spend the morning with. I considered offering to take him to coffee in downtown Saratoga like we used to, and maybe even visit the Madronia Cemetery where my parents are buried. But I elected not to. Seth was still wearing his church volunteer jacket and had more duties to attend to. And he belonged where he was. At the church that he has served, and has served him, for all these years.

I wanted to stay longer.

But I knew Seth had to get back to his work, and so I gave him one last hug and told him how happy I was to spend some time with him. This kind and gentle man I’ve known my entire life. I said I’d be back in town in August, and maybe we could do this again.

“I’d like that,” Seth said.

And you’ve got us feelin’ alright

Eyes a little moist, I drove out of the parking lot and headed down Highway 9 towards Los Gatos.

I had a little time to kill and decided to detour up the backroads to my childhood home on Hidden Drive. The entrance to the steep driveway of our old family home in the hills still held the cement Lions my Dad placed on brick pedestals when I was an infant. Just up around the corner, I found the old water pump house. I parked next to it and exited my car.

After my father’s retirement as an administrative law judge, he became Chairman of the Montgomery Highlands Homeowners Association. He led the effort to bring San Jose Water and Sewer service to the many private homes on the hill that in the past relied on an old water pump well. As thanks for his service, the residents chipped in and directed me to purchase a plaque honoring my father. I wrote the dedication for the plaque, which the residents voted to approve, and the plaque was placed on the old water pump shed. Thus, I had to visit it and take a picture. Unfortunately, Dad passed away before the plaque was done, but I know it would have meant a lot to him.

 

 

I stood there a moment and remembered the winter storms, and the many times my father raced up to check on the water pump over the years. And how that shack always frightened me, because inside was a deep well and churning water. I breathed in the fresh air and scent of oak trees. I glanced at the green lichen covering some of the concrete pump house walls.

And then I slid back in my car and headed to downtown Los Gatos to meet my oldest friend, Steven.

We had selected the Los Gatos Brewery as an appropriate reunion spot, seeing that our friendship took us through those wonderful teenage years of dating, girls, and beer parties.

I arrived in Los Gatos early and parked to the year of the brewery. I phoned my wife excitedly, anxious to tell her all about my wonderful visit with Seth. Of course, my wife helped arrange this trip for me. She even booked me a room at the Toll House Hotel in Los Gatos, so I could take everything in and relax that night before embarking on the 7-hour drive home the next day. How blessed am I to have such an amazing wife?

As I was chatting with my wife, I spotted Steven walking up the sidewalk. I immediately recognized him. He is the spitting image of his father, Clarence, who had Steven later in life and passed away of cancer when Steven was only around 10 years old. Clarence was a Stanford University-educated entrepreneur who became wealthy creating a successful softwater company. He was a charismatic man and always treated me kindly. He used to have Steven and then I sit on his knee in his Jaguar and let us drive up the street to his house.

My wife told me to get off the phone and go see Steven.

I hurried out of the car and caught Steven at the entrance to the brewery. We hugged and I said how happy I was to see him. From there, we went inside, ordered lunch, and drinks, and settled into a walk down memory lane. We talked about our wives, grown kids, work, vicissitudes of aging, and more.

Steven was supposed to go look at residential open house garden displays with his wife that afternoon, but instead made time to visit with me. I told him to apologize to his wife, and that I was so happy we got to visit.

A gentleman named Jim in the brewery noticed Steven’s tattoo and asked if he served in the military. Steven said no it was a tattoo of his family crest. Jim then told us he was a United States Marine who served in Vietnam in the Tet Offensive. Jim was writing a book about it involving “The General’s Hooch.” It sounded like an amazing story.

Steven told Jim that I was a writer, and so we were off to the races. I shook Jim’s hand and thanked him for his service. And he thanked me for my law enforcement service, as I had mentioned that somewhere in the conversation.

And this is what I love about downtime, having real-life experiences, meeting fascinating people, and escaping the tyranny of blinking screens.

Steven and I concluded our lunch, and we vowed to get together again, probably in August when I’m back in town. I thanked him again for an awesome visit, we hugged, and the rest of the afternoon was whatever I wanted it to be. So I ventured around Los Gatos with my camera for a while, and finally, the busy few days had me exhausted. I checked into the Toll House Hotel and collapsed on the bed in my room for a nap.

Two hours later I awoke and decided to flip open my laptop and check a few emails. Old habits die hard I guess.

And there was one from Jim, who Steven and I met at the brewery. He remembered the name of my website and found out that I am a cartoonist. He made me a very generous offer to do the cover art for his forthcoming book. It was tempting. Not so much for the money (although that was greatly appreciated) but simply because I instantly liked Jim, admired his brave service in such a difficult, hellish war, and the fact that he was a fellow writer. But unfortunately, I had to politely turn him down. Simply because I no longer do commissions. Experience taught me that they’re time-consuming, and take me away from my writing and creative goals. Jim, being such a good-natured chap, was completely understanding. I recommended he get an artist from the Fiverr website, which would probably cost less and still get the result he’s after.

I ventured to the hotel’s front lobby and asked where the best sushi place was in town. The receptionist was very helpful, and soon I was enjoying delicious pieces of Nigiri and a diet Coke. Afterward, I treated myself to a small cup of gelato nearby, and then ambled back to my hotel room.

I was feeling a little bored.

A retired police colleague and mentor of mine, Donna, phoned to see how my visit with Seth went. I had planned to visit with yet another acquaintance after Steven, but I was too exhausted and decided to do that another time. Donna recommended I watch the Billy Joel concert at Madison Square Gardens, playing on television that night. I planned to take a shower and turn in early before my long drive home, but then, I love Billy Joel.

In high school, in the family home I visited earlier that day, I used to play the family’s baby grand piano. My parents bought me classical piano lessons from an old Latvian woman who had a piano studio in her home in Los Gatos. Her name was Irma Hincenbergs. A Latvian immigrant who fled to the United States when the Russians invaded her country. A wonderful, kind, gentle woman who passed away years ago now. And while I played my share of classical pieces like Debussy’s Claire de Lune and Beethoven’s Fur Elise, it wasn’t long before I joined a rock band and started serenading my parents with rock songs, which I sang loudly. And one of my signature pieces I loved to sing and play was Billy Joel’s Piano Man.

So I decided to take that shower in the early morning, and I reclined on the bed and watched the entire Billy Joel concert. He sounded great and still plays beautifully. And sure enough, at the end of the concert, he stretched his fingers and back, sat down on his piano bench, and started playing his most famous song.

And as I listened to Piano Man on the television, I closed my eyes and found myself back in my old Los Gatos home. Dad is on his leather reading chair. Mom is on the couch. My sister is out on a date. The family poodle, Ebony, is hiding by my mother’s feet. And my old friend Seth is sitting next to me on the piano bench like he used to do on weekend visits.

And soon we’re all singing the chorus lyrics.

Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
We’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright

And it hits me, that all these years later, I’m back in Los Gatos. Back visiting my old pals Seth and Steven. And while my parents are gone now, I feel their spirit with me in the hotel room. And I hum the lyrics over again, and I smile to myself.

I smile to myself because I know I’m a blessed man. To have such an amazing family, in the past, and now. And to have such treasured friends. And to be able to take these days to prioritize a little downtime, a bit of boredom, and mostly a lot of joy connecting with the people I love. Then I hum the lyrics once more before slumber overcomes me.

Because I’m feelin’ alright.

Before you go

John Patrick Weiss writes stories and essays about life, often illustrated with his black and white photography. Visit  JohnPatrickWeiss.com.