What is your relationship with free time? Truly free free time? When is the last time you’ve had it? What happened when you did?
At the beginning of the year, I came back from two weeks away unplugged. Upon return, people asked how my time was. (As they are wont to do.) I am not a big fan of empty pleasantries. Saying “Fine.” Or “Nice.” and then walking away. Much more interesting, to me, is engaging on a substantive level, even if in passing. So, this introduced a conundrum as well as a fascinating social experiment. What if I were to be entirely honest? What if I were to tell the whole truth? In spite of the potential ramifications…
So…I did…
When people asked, I told them it was lovely. I slowed down. Cocooned with my family in a magical place that brings us peace. I went inward. I relaxed. It was very mellow and, I dared to say, I even got a little bored.
Turns out, you can see the shock and horror in people’s faces when you say this. (Try it!) A flash of, “You were so audacious as to take that time away from productivity and you choose to squander it!?!” Then, cue (polite) discomfort.
Think about it. Who wants to be bored? It feels wasteful. Shameful. Irresponsible. (An inefficient allocation of resources!) When our kids tell us they’re bored, they’re essentially asserting that we’re ruining their childhood. It’s the WORST. And, yet…
Time is such a luxury. Spaciousness. Room to breathe. And be.
The paradox is that the thing that makes time such a luxury – its finite nature – is the thing that makes it hard to simply be in the space it creates. We often traverse quite swiftly from scrumptious splendoring to a resounding discomfort. Anxiety, even. Fear (or panic) of missing out on all the other things we could be doing and the opportunity cost of not doing them in that glimmer of unfilled time.
Our culture around time off compounds the challenge. It’s hard not to worry that this is it and one must make the absolute most of every minute. But what does that mean? What constitutes making the most of your time? Is it defined by Instagram? Does it need to align to what your friend or neighbor chose to do on their last vacation? Must you have your family there (or not have your family there) for it to count? Is there a distance requirement? Or an output requirement? If it is not well documented by photos, did it even happen?
It’s not even just time off. It’s life. By all indication, we’re supposed to be constantly doing. Activities. Actioning. Striving. Hustling. Producing. Achieving. Always stimulated. Entertained. All the margins filled. So, of course doing nothing feels sacrilegious.
In The Artist’s Way, a twelve-week creative recovery course in book form, Julia Cameron invites us to take a week off of all media. No reading. No emails. No TV. No podcasts. No social media. No music. Really, no distractions. For most of us, this exercise poses a challenge to perform literally. However, aligning to the spirit of the exercise – no unnecessary media – still yields quite a transformation.
Pause for a moment and think about this. It’s a revolutionary concept. Especially now. And…it’s daunting! How does one escape content in this day and age? And, what on earth is one to do in all the still moments without it? How dreadfully and terrifyingly boring! And, yet…
When I did this a couple years ago, I found that my daily morning walks were shockingly and perhaps almost disturbingly quiet. At first… Ultimately, though, they became these extraordinary sanctuaries. I was discovering the space for my thoughts, ideas, dreams and meditations as well as strategies, goals, plans and problem-solving. Not to mention, appreciation for my life. My loved ones. The miracle of being here. The nature I was surrounded by. (In days I was always so sure contained no room, no less!) The things that were always there, always available, but blurred out by the numerous things I was always juggling.
It is worthwhile to look at the things we let fill the gaps and question how much of it is distraction? Intentional or unintentional. And, what are we distracting ourselves from?
Once we understand that, we can explore what is possible if we resist that reflex. What might come up if we left room for the unknown. What we might learn if we watch our minds and the emotions that crop up around unencumbered or “unproductive” time. As Joseph Campbell promised, “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”
It’s also worth exploring the connotation of boredom as negative. Why have we made it this way? Merriam-Webster defines boredom as “the state of being weary or restless through lack of interest.” That’s pretty benign compared to the charged way we think of the word. And, speaking of charged, doesn’t it also connote a kind of static energy, primed for ignition? I’ve found that space that is “boring” (or, perhaps more accurately, unfilled) is where the reinvigoration we so often seek in our lives enters. It is where the inspiration comes in. That feeling of completion is a gateway to motivation. A readiness signal.
I watch this all play out in microcosm with my son. Whenever he tells me he’s bored, I have an instant pang of angst that I’m not living up to my role as mother, acrobat, entertainer extraordinaire. Then, I ground in my belief that “bored” is a necessary state for integration and creativity. An activating state. It’s certainly not the only thing that sparks inspiration. And, yet…“bored” almost always precedes a great creative endeavor. Whether it was the spaceship constructed out of our delivery boxes or the wildly precise renderings of his treasured Pokémon cards or the mythical bed fort, they were preceded by space. And space that, in the moment, perhaps felt dull. Or overly uncluttered.
It’s kind of embarrassing to admit this but I’ve spent most of my life shunning rest as boring. Most nights, I become a toddler at bedtime and have to talk my rebelling brain into winding down to sleep even though everything else sounds so much more interesting. I know I’m not entirely alone in this. In fact, I hear often from people who say they aren’t sure that they even know how to relax. But, I am also coming to see that rest and living it all almost necessarily go hand in hand. Like the powering down to restart recharged. It’s kind of wild when we think about it.
Although, it’s odd that it feels like such a surprise.
We look at great athletes. Admire their Herculean feats. And their rigorous training schedules. We strive to be more like them. All while all of them attest to the critical importance of rest. Deliberate down time.
Nature too. Watch her in winter. The quiet calm as the trees shed their leaves to conserve their energy for the dark months ahead, snow blankets the ground, animals hibernate.
And, yet…our default setting is “Power Through.” Or its close cousin, “Work Hard, Play Hard” (which, for a long time, I believed was the definition of work-life balance…).
What might be possible if we did more like our earth mother does and made space? For rest. Restoration. Renewal. A winter’s stillness making way for a vibrant spring.
I have been feeling a deep sense of pulling inward and intentional pause energy that is so in tune with nature at this time of year. It makes me wonder if that was always calling in this season and the voice was just not loud enough to overcome the noise.
Whatever the case may be, I’m noticing a shift. Staring out at the snowy forest while doing yoga in front of a fire (snow-ga!) instead of pounding the pavement of a new city abroad. Quietly reading or writing instead of late nights on the town (ideally with my loved ones cuddled up close). Doing less. Moving slower. Nestling in. Embracing stillness. Peace. Focusing on how to use my free time to best rejuvenate me. How to maximize inspiration and space. Not to mention appreciating the little things and the precious moments that are gone too fast. (As the little kid in Up says when describing his favorite memories with his dad, getting ice cream and eating it on the curb outside of the shop, “That might sound boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most.”)
Perhaps it’s me getting older or the increasing responsibility that has come with that but it all feels like such a luxury. Like I know I’m going to need my rest and I’m deliciously sinking into the expanse. Enjoying the pause and calm before new inspiration alights. Coming to that place from a wholehearted delight rather than crawling there drained. Strategically planning relaxation and restoration into the year ahead, not just activity and adventure.
Through this lens, as the kaleidoscope shifts away from our attachment to the “shoulds,” we start to see prioritizing slowing down and space as the investment that it is. The dedicated commitment to strategic renewal. Not the absence of something. Not a lacking. If we stay in our awareness, this time of year can offer the invitation we need to arrive at that place of feeling recharged, reinvigorated and ready for what’s in store for us next.
So, I dare you. Approach the portal of “boredom.” And see what magic is waiting on the other side.