
Boredom is not about activity, as is commonly believed, too little of it, or too much of the same. These are mere developmental symptoms. Boredom full-blown is exhaustion with being, and tiredness of self, or a certain sense of self, which is perhaps why we crave novelty—not just of surroundings and apparel and activities but deeper down an evolutionary, elemental desire for becoming, the possibility of no longer being, doing, or thinking what we are, do, or think, as Foucault once put it. We are of course torn between the comfortable familiarity of what we currently are, on the one hand, and on the other the sumptuous allure of becoming something truly other, regardless of how good our present circumstances might be. For this reason boredom was known in a bygone age as the noonday demon, as a person might have an abundance of blessings with ample time for leisure and yet, despite this sunny exterior, be filled with emptiness. Emptiness is often the actual impetus for busyness, as if activity itself could somehow console that dull and dreadful despondency we dare not name haunting us at our core. Is there a remedy, a way of exorcising or at least making peace with the ennui? Can peace be found by sitting full lotus, with eyes closed and a clear mind? Perhaps, although peace is pliant and holds many poses. A woman races through her day, caring for wounded souls, swirling in a maelstrom of commitments and activity, yet feels a sense of calm and belonging in the midst of it all, one that is foreign to her at the end of the day. A med tech similarly stands in the chaos of an emergency room attending to the aching of others, finding rest with the restless, feeling fulfilled, and knowing solace not because he seeks it but by offering it to the injured. Activity, curiously, can be an evasion, or antidote, to boredom, the difference depending of all things not on the quality or quantity of actions but one’s ability to embrace those doings that deliver us from who we were into who we are becoming.