One of my challenges in life is responsibly reacting to my tendency to bolt from “boredom.” I call it boredom because, in my defensive training to give good reason to the imperfections of my abstract, creative brain, I’ve grown bad habits of negatively labeling things that I wish came naturally for me but don’t. Like maybe routine and consistency.
In an overstimulating world of Internet access and iPhones that can quickly tangle us up, the refuge I seek often looks a lot like those three years I spent with my grandparents. Familiar routines, small meaningful tasks, the ability to sit through a meditation session without a stream of THINKING (we’ll get there). Structure and routine aren’t boring—they’re the stability I need in my life that allow me to adventurously fly away when necessary without that sinking feeling that if I fall, there’s nothing there to catch me.
Someday, when I rock a silver bun and only use Barkeeper’s Friend in my kitchen, I’m totally going to do crossword puzzles every day.