What Are You Doing?

Twice in half an hour I have had to ask myself, what are you doing? I have asked it out loud because it seemed important enough to answer. Both times I have been staring at the laptop on which I've opened a new tab looking to distract myself with...anything. What are you doing? Each time I have stepped away from the computer and done something more useful, but I'm still wondering about my answer to that question.

An old Genesis song begins with Peter Gabriel crooning, "looking for someone". I stare into the computer looking for something. Looking for distraction to take me away. This is why I had to quit Facebook and why I use Twitter only for writerly stuff. I kept looking at social media, news, and YouTube to relieve me of thinking, to deliver me from boredom, a thing which I realize scares me.

Why is boredom frightening? Does it frighten other people? Maybe that's why we stare at our phones in line at Wegmans. Don't tell me all those people are reading books.

A couple weeks ago I wrote about doing nothing and yet I don't let myself do nothing. It doesn't count to stare at nothing on the screen waiting for good news, watching YouTube to pass the time, or anything else that tries to dodge boredom. I'm talking about sitting still, doing nothing. Haven't done it. I haven't been able to stand it.

Even now, I'm too interested in writing this to stop. I looked out the window for thirty seconds but had to get back.

There are worse things, but here's what concerns me: my fear of boredom is an indication of dissatisfaction mostly with myself. I'm afraid to be truly alone with myself and know what the truth of that. Hmmm. Heady stuff. I would think about it, but I'm too busy worrying what you're thinking of me as you read that.

Duh.

Twice in half an hour I've gone to the computer for distraction. Then I came to the computer to write this. Those things all being done, I have ten minutes to stop, resist the desire to revise this or just open another tab. I have the chance to be bored and ask myself what are you doing? just to hear what the next answer might be.

Nothing

Woke up this morning tired out of my mind. That's not entirely unusual by Thursday and with me waking at 4:40 in order to enjoy writing time. Still, this morning, the condition was more acute than usual. Rather than slow down, I felt myself revving up trying to go faster. I made lists in my head about what had to be done and major changes I needed to make right away. The whole thing left me feeling frantic even as I tried to concentrate on writing one word at a time, one line after the another, through my three pages. I was almost shaking by the time I came up from the basement office and gave the cats some food.

What I need, I told the cats, is to just do nothing.

It wasn't the cry of my laziness. I was giving myself a difficult task to complete. Set aside ten minutes, or better, half an hour, and do nothing. Sit. Stare out the window. Don't even try to meditate. Just do nothing. Be a tree. Be a speck of dust. Be nothing and do nothing. It sounded restful but challenging and thus unlikely.

First rinsed out my mug, packed a lunch, wrote a note to my wife, used the bathroom, got dressed for school. So much to get done before 6:50 when I leave the house. I greeted my wife and kids as they came downstairs. I said hello to the dog as she wagged her way down the stairs, over to me for a rub and scratch, and then into the den for a nap.

Be like the dog, I thought.

At 6:38 I went into the living room and sat on the couch. I pulled a blanket around me. I checked my watch to be sure I had time remaining before I needed to leave. And then I did nothing.

For four minutes.

I couldn't take it any longer than that. My mind kept going to all the things I need to do. I considered writing this piece. I wondered if meditation would be better or if maybe I was attempting a form of meditation here. I worried about the time and whether or not I should go into work right away and attend to things. Would that be more restful? I whirled and whirled until I threw the blanket aside and got off the couch to go do something.

Two things about this:

Whatever I did instead of nothing was so inconsequential that six hours later I can't recall it. The busyness I feel has little to do with importance. It's just that I can't sit still and look out the window.

I need to try again. There's something in this. I need to learn how to be bored and still.

At a meeting the other day we were asked to describe our happy place. I realize today what that place would be: a comfortable spot on a river that is going by. I swear I could watch that all day. And I really need to.

John Lennon knew what he was talking about:

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go