She was Never Bored!

I was chatting recently at the breakfast table with daughters Lily and Mia about plans for the day. Mia, my string-of-firecrackers-energy kid is always amazed that I find spending several days at the cabin without phone or internet or cable appealing. Or meditating. Or enjoying a cup of hot tea and a good book. Or being retired.

When I told her my plans for the day, which sounded pretty low key compared to hers, she asked me the question she often asks when she contemplates my life. “Aren’t you bored?” To which I replied with my usual answer. “I am never bored!”

Mia laughed and joked that my headstone should read, “She was never bored!” Lily, bless her heart, was shocked at a reference to my future demise, especially such an irreverent one, and reprimanded Mia. But I thought it was funny and perfect. I made them promise that if I ever had a headstone, they would put that on it.

It’s true. I am never bored.

But the conversation made me reflect a bit more deeply. I tried to remember the last time I was aware of feeling bored. Oh, yes, I remembered right away. It was a time years ago when I was going through a dark spell, which I attributed to the evil doings of someone I had had a serious falling out with. I spent months blaming this other person. I thought about it, wrote about it, and talked about it to anyone I could corner to listen.

Eventually, I settled into a rut. Nothing new was happening. I was just retelling the same old victim story. Over and over. Finally, one day I listened to myself and I thought, “I am so bored! I can’t stand myself anymore. If I hear this story one more time I’m going to ... I don’t know what!” That was the end of that. And the beginning of the path that has led me to now.

I learned two things from that period. One was that focusing on myself all the time is boring. Focusing on my problems all the time is excruciatingly boring. When I tired of my story and started paying attention to other people and the world around me, life got more interesting. My own problems moved to a back seat. Later I realized that my problems were largely of my own making, and that I could make a different choice. So they disappeared altogether. Life got better and better.

The second thing I learned was that my friends are better friends than I am. They stuck by me all those months. Long suffering is the term that comes to mind. They listened to me pick apart all that had happened. Again and again. They listened to me lash out with blame in self-righteous fury. Again and again. They could have read every book on the NY Times bestseller list with the hours they spent listening to me. I am awed and humbled by their patience and compassion. I doubt I could match it.

I love my life now. I play a small role in it. The story is so much more interesting that way. And I am never bored.

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