In grade 10, I was called to the Vice Principal’s office to explain why I was being disruptive in English class. Remember, this occurred at a time when educators were given almost total authority over students. No one suggested that I might be too advanced for the material, or that the teacher wasn’t effective. If there was a problem, it was clearly mine.
I’d been making my best friend laugh, as we sat in the back row of the classroom, by making silly doodles and sarcastic remarks. Typical teenage stuff. Our outbursts disturbed the other students, and the teacher was fed up. So, when the VP asked why I wasn’t paying attention, I answered, “I’m bored.”
He immediately shot back, “You’re bored because you’re boring,” and sent me back to class with orders to behave myself.
That sentence, “You’re bored because you’re boring,” has come back to me many times in my life. I thought of it in my twenties when I overwhelmed myself with too many tasks and responsibilities peppered with far too many late nights. I did anything to avoid boredom, believing it was a waste of time—time that I could spend moving, doing, achieving.
Now, many years later, I have a different view of boredom through the lens of stoicism. While I still enjoy keeping busy, learning, doing work I love and staying active, I welcome moments of boredom because they are opportunities for reflection.
“An unexamined life is not worth living,” said Socrates.
A little bit of boredom
I look forward to brief times of boredom. When it’s quiet and there’s nothing pressing to do, thoughts turn inward and I can take stock. I think of those boring moments as opportunities to hit the reset button for my life, if it’s necessary. To assess whether I’m living up to my stoic values and to pinpoint where I can improve. In fact, I find myself creating these moments and looking forward to them. Life is loud and busy and full of nonsense that, given the chance, can distract us from our priorities.
My much younger self would have balked at this idea of stillness and being alone with nothing but my own thoughts. Childhood trauma, a series of bad relationships, and a tendency to overindulge in food and drink occupied my mind and body in a constant swirl of anxiety and insecurities. I used forced busyness to distract myself from my thoughts so I didn’t have to examine them. They threatened to overwhelm me, unsorted and unresolved.
The stoics believe we have a choice: to be a victim, or not. Choosing “not,” and understanding what is and isn’t within my control, quieted this overactive mind. (This is a simplification of a complex issue, but it’s still true.)
Enjoying a bit of boredom here and there doesn’t make me lazy. Far from it. Professionally, I’ve accomplished a lot. I run my own business and have published several books. There are many more goals I plan to reach. I believe these occasional quiet times have helped me focus.
What does a little bit of boredom look like?
It could be meditation. It might be simply sitting in a comfortable spot, eyes closed, focusing on the moment. It could include a mental rehearsal for appointments and obligations for the day or week ahead. Although we can’t (nor should we) try to predict how every interaction will go, I find it much easier to respond to events in a stoic manner after reflecting on what that means, rather than counting on suppressing an impulse. But I’m working on it.
I used to think of boredom as a shameless indulgence, like eating an entire cheesecake or buying expensive designer shoes at full price. If you have time to be bored, you have time to do something worthwhile. That was a mindset that kept me and my brain in constant motion.
But now that I choose to be deliberate with my actions and responses, I look forward to a little boredom now and then. My high school VP was wrong. I’m not boring, even though I am sometimes bored.
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image 1: Silvia; image 2: Gerd Altmann
