Rhythms of Focus
In this podcast episode, I reflect on boredom. Boredom is a restless, sometimes frightening emotion that can feel like an indictment of a life being wasted. This leads some of us to run toward distractions, productivity tools, or urgency. The problem as I see it, isn’t boredom, but the avoidance of it. Shaming ourselves with “shoulds” and infinite task lists amplifies the dread. Instead, how about taking a different approach by pausing to acknowledge boredom as a signal rather than a driver. Can we look for small glimmers of life to sow seeds of play within the necessary chores or uninspiring moments which are simply part of living? I end the episode with a piano piece blending two of my other compositions, “Herd” and “Alight”, both in F minor. As with all of my music, it is ever-evolving. Transcript Ah, boredom. What am I gonna do? Nothing to do? Ugh. It seems as if boredom has a sense of a exhaustion to it. Restlessness? But it's base, I think it can feel quite scary. Some can even view it as this indictment against themselves. Of, somehow this reflection of an empty life. And so we might look to occupy ourselves with the next productivity tool, the next craft, the next project interest, whatever. Well, to put it more bluntly though, we run from that feeling of boredom. But the trouble isn't the boredom, it's the running. THE GUILT IN BOREDOM Whenever we dismiss, cutoff, any emotion, we cut something from ourselves. Sometimes we shame ourselves with the shoulds. I should be that person. I should have done more in my younger years. I should do the laundry. I shouldn't be bored. We use the should as this sort of knife. Any of these emotions can be painful, and so we distract ourselves. Sometimes we become overwhelmed standing at the edge of some work, some field of knowledge, the gaping maw of some effectively infinite task list. Just start. Just start might be the admonition here. One I'm certainly not a fan of, especially as it can easily touch off more of the, "I don't wanna" feelings. Running from boredom can sound like, well, I better act now and get rid of that feeling. The feeling is like it's pesky. Something to push away. As we dive into another activity, often fueled by and further fueling some sense of urgency, but if we pause, pay attention to it, allowing it to be neither indulging nor ignoring, we might acknowledge its power, it's grip. Sometimes it's a small tingle, but other times it's this existential dread. A sense that life itself is being wasted. And now we add on that we only have our shameful selves to blame, effectively compounding the problem. THINGS STILL NEED TO GET DONE Some of those boring things, taxes, laundry, dishes, and the like, yet need doing. And when we pause without running, we can hear that emotion as a signal and less have it become our driver. When we pause, we might be able to consider, "How can I find some life, some flow within whatever it is that might be boring? What tiny plant of play perhaps can I find in here and nourish?" The answer, of course is not obvious. Sometimes it's not even possible. But what we do start doing is we stop avoiding the things that are causing us boredom and troubles, and instead start recognizing that we can try to find life within them, and that that itself is a practice. When I returned to the piano on those days that I'm not feeling it, I'll still sit with it. I'll breathe it in. Feel the moment as it is. Maybe just maybe lightly brush a key with a gentle touch, and then maybe just maybe press a key. I'm not acting, I'm not "faking it until I make it," a phrase that makes me otherwise nauseous. FINDING LIFE IN ONE NOTE Instead, what I'm doing is I'm listening for the life. Within that note, can I hear that? I'm not trying to defend against the space time, distortions of boredom and other strong emotions, but I'm trying to integrate it, sing through it with it, form with it. I am where I am in the mush of the moment. And can I hear the beauty of that single sound in a single note, in that mush? And if I can find that itself, not a simple task, but if I can, even if the entire session is about that, somehow something unlocks. Whatever comes next, somehow rings more deeply, whatever's left of that session, even if it's only for a few moments that I'm playing something, somehow it feels more engaging and powerful than had I spent hours pounding away at the keys. Next sessions, both at the piano and in other things of my life throughout the day, somehow carry a different confidence. This confidence that's born in the bravery of facing that stalwart foe of boredom once again. It is a challenge, but it's a worthy one, and it's one that's rewarded not by some pot of gold at the end, but by a return to where work itself feels alive. If we can find that life, that play, that care, then we're also finding maybe the mastery and meaning in the moment. SITTING WITH BOREDOM It's not solved in a day, and I don't have a hack for you, but I do have a suggestion. The wandering mind wanders, not least of all through avoiding flaring and difficult emotions, but also we can guide it with practice engaging emotions like boredom again. In this way, it becomes less driver and more messenger. The next time you might feel that wave of boredom approach even envelop you, can you be with it? Can you be with it at a place that engages you in that boredom? Can you do so not to a degree that overwhelms you, but also not so little in such a way that you pretend it doesn't exist. Can you do so to whatever caring degree makes sense to you? And if so, what does it have to say? Maybe it says nothing beyond some vague feeling. I wonder how you might experience making that next decision. What would your next session be like, whatever you decide. Might it not be richer than if you simply acted? HEARD AND ALIGHT IN F MINOR The following piece is a mix of a couple of, uh, pieces called Herd and Alight, both of them in F Minor. They're both, I suppose relatively old, a couple decades old. But as with all of these pieces, they tend to evolve. I like the, um, structure that's formed in these that they, um still allow for a flow and a change from one performance to the next. Sometimes I repeat one thing more often and another thing less often and I vary here or there, but still that structure's within it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this piece, that's kind of meld between the two. Um, sometimes I'll think of these pieces as something of a garden, if you will. You know, one grows and another thing fades. Sometimes they combine, sometimes they become two. Anyway, this is called Herd and Alight. Mentioned in this episode: Join the Weekly Wind Down Newsletter The Weekly Wind Down is an exploration of wandering minds, task and time management, and more importantly, how we find calmer focus and meaningful work.
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