BOREDOM

An empty box
An open space
A single thought
Leaves a trace
—from "Minimal" by the Pet Shop Boys, from the album Fundamental



"Learn to be satisfied with little—will you deny that this is much?"
—page 211, Provocations by Søren Kierkegaard

What is boredom? Failed imagination? A lesser relative of depression? A vacuum of stimulation and entertainment? Sometimes, I find it difficult to tell if I am depressed, fatigued, or simply bored.

The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, Fifth Edition defines boredom as "tedium, ennui." It defines ennui as "mental weariness and dissatisfaction arising from lack of occupation or interest; boredom." I find much to occupy myself with. I am not sure that I find all of it interesting. Perhaps Kierkegaard is right: simplification is in order. Perhaps the architect Mies van der Rohe is right: less is more. I do often find satisfaction in the simple things of life. A good beer. A nice meal. An hour of quiet to read. Time spent just sitting with the wife and child. Watching birds jump around in the garden or hanging on the bird feeders. Walking outdoors without purpose.

So, what are my complaints? Are my expectations set too high? Do I let culture dictate how I live my life moreso than I am willing to consciously acknowledge?

For me, comfort comes in knowing that I am not alone in my restlessness. Ghita Schwarz has an essay, "A Case of Boredom: A Rigorous and Lyrical Examination of a Relatively New Illness," in the February 2007 issue of The Believer that helps to ease my mind. She discusses boredom settling in during a difficult time in her life: as her father slowly dies over a period of years due to debilitating cardiac illness. She finds herself restless. She aimlessly surfs the Internet in search of celebrity gossip at work. She finds all food to be bland. She finds sex to be routine and unfulfilling. She questions her own sanity. In her suffering through boredom, I can recognize glimpses of my own life. Some of our symptoms are the same; some are different. Her frustration at where to turn for help feels palpable to me, though; I know her predicament. She also discovers that others around her don't understand her. They see her as unstable or don't know how to deal with her.

She also leaves no solution for the reader of her essay. Her boredom disappears (although, I am certain it will return) with the death of her father. As she writes: "Why did it go? Boredom didn't leave a note, so I can only speculate...grief beats boredom."

Her answer may not satisfy, but it seems truthful. Most states of being involve endurance and tolerance. Maturation only comes in the midst of suffering that is lived through. In the meantime, one can wander, searching, looking for satisfaction in the quotidian and the simple and the small.