I’m tired of doing things that bore me.
While reading something for class the other week I found myself sighing more than I should have been. More than I usually do. I was bored- so bored. Bored of reading things that have no emotional impact on me. Bored of sitting in the Hiccup while nobody else is there. Bored of pretending I’m not bored.
I want to do something. I want to accomplish something every once in a while. I know I’m not the only person who feels like their life is on stand-by waiting for an open seat on a plane. I want to be proud of myself for achieving something that I don’t normally give myself any credit for.
I got a B+ on a paper last week. I’ve never been disappointed in getting such a grade, but for some reason this one slapped me in the face. You would think that as an English major I know exactly how things should be displayed on a page. Apparently I only know about 88% of what’s right and wrong in that department.
I’ve recently decided that upon my search for something that will make me feel whole again that I no longer have any interest in reading or watching or doing anything that makes me feel like I’m staring at the ceiling. I used to feel comfort in counting bricks in the walls or finding water spots on the carpet. There was something in the simplicity of it- the focus of it- that made me feel calm.
More recently I have no desire to feel calm at all. There are things in this world that I can only handle so much of- and I think that a sense of “calmness” is something that I have already gotten my fair share of. Maybe the world “calm” is not something that I should strive for. Maybe I should consider letting other people experience the vastness of that state of mind.
I believe I am slowly starting to realize that being “calm” is not the same as being “happy.” I know that I have been putting these words in quotes but I need to empasize my thoughts this way. Happiness or the lack of it has absolutely no correlation to going out every other night, partying on the weekends, or having so many friends that you lose count. Happiness, as I have re-defined it for myself, is being able to feel still.
Now, being still is one thing. Being absolutely mind-boggleingly boring is another. I’m not saying that in order to feel something or to be happy that you need to be meditating or doing things that make you feel like learning how to joust might be more entertaining. I’m simply saying that there is a small room in between the endless hallway of boredom and the sky-light of happiness where we should strive to live. This is the room of stillness. Where nothing is boring, or too lame, or too over-consuming to rest in.
Rest does not have to mean nothingness. It also, funnily enough, does not have to mean boredom. Rest means feeling something: Feeling anything. And I am sick of doing things that serve me no purpose other than to get something done.
So, in order to stop myself from loathing every assignment I do for classes, in between them I pet my cat, watch an episode of a show, read a few chapters of my book.
Do something that makes you happy. Something that makes you feel alive in your own skin. Not someone else’s. And if that means reading mind-numbing things for class, go for it. I, however, will be watching Twilight and pointing banana-guns at Dr. Strait in order to feel something. And I’m okay with that.
