“How are you doing?”
“Busy, and you?”
“Yeah, busy.”
How many times have you had this conversation? How many times has that conversation been had? Countless, surely. Far too many.
“How are you doing?”
“Bored, and you?”
“Yeah, bored.”
This is the conversation I want to have, at least once in a while. I might have even had that conversation, but I don’t think I meant it.
The last time I remember being bored—truly, properly—was during the summer holidays at the tail end of high school. Young enough to get the time off. Too poor to do anything. Too old to need supervision.
I don’t think I’ve been bored since.
I don’t just mean “ugh, there’s nothing good on TV,” or even “wow, this project is a drag.” I mean undeniably, inescapably bored. The kind of bored that isn’t a single Google search away (or, ahem, Ask Jeeves.)
I yearn for boredom. Hours of it. Days. Weeks, even. I want to feel what it’s like to be uninterrupted by the thoughts of others. To be devoid of thought at all, perhaps, for a time. To reach boredom nirvana.
I’m not certain I’ll ever be bored again. It’s possible I don’t even remember what it feels like. Maybe I won’t even recognize it.
I don’t want to be bored forever, of course. If anything, I’m the anti-bored most of the time. I love learning things, making things, doing things. I love talking to people and hearing stories and reading books.
For a while, though—a short while—I’d like to be bored.