Boredom is the root of all evil. Kierkegaard writes in Either/Or.
As a young boy, I learned rather quickly that it was unwise to express boredom. My parents, both of whom I assume hadn’t read Kierkegaard, but both, particularly my mother, knew the biblical wisdom of Proverbs. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop…” (Proverbs 16: 27). The mistake of saying, “I’m bored,” resulted in chores. Chores v. finding something to do was, to my 8 year old mind, easily decided upon.
After a class, Joe Maizel, my high school social studies teacher, told me to come to his office. He opened our meeting with the remark that I spent most of the class staring out the window, daydreaming, until he said something that piqued my interest. I failed to fully appreciate his comment until I began to teach. A ten to fifteen minute d’var Torah, or sermon, is more difficult to prepare and deliver than a three hour seminar lecture on Chaucer. A forty-five minute lecture on Nathaniel Hawthorne requires the sprinter’s discipline of either Allyson Felix or Justin Gatlin as you race to avoid the inevitable hand going up to inquire, “Is this on the exam?” I quickly learned, thanks to my homiletics professor Don Boyd at Asbury Theological Seminary, and through trial and error, that a teacher, regardless of the environment—a church or synagogue sanctuary or a classroom—requires acting skills. One has to balance content and delivery. The question one has to ask oneself repeatedly is: “How do I engage the audience to prevent boredom?”
But what exactly is boredom? Can it be productive? Can it contribute to our creativity?
Dr. John D. Eastwood a clinical psychologist and Associate Professor at York University in Ontario, defines boredom as “the aversive experience of wanting, but being unable, to engage in satisfying activity.” (1)
The author Jude Stewart succinctly summarizes the five emotional states of boredom. She writes:
A German-led team has since identified five states of boredom: indifferent, calibrating, searching, reactant, and apathetic (indifferent boredom—characterized by low arousal—was the mellowest, least unpleasant kind; reactant—high arousal—was the most aggressive and unpleasant.) Boredom may be miserable, but let no one call it simple. (2)
I unexpectedly came to a crossroads in life in my late forties. Boredom, as a state of searching, was my companion. You may think it was a midlife crisis, but in fact it arose from self-doubt. I had been conducting research and attending meetings with former President Gerald Ford and others. I was offered a grant to delve deeper into a topic pertaining to national security. There would be no interference, total independence to draw my own conclusions. I was informed that Henry Kissinger offered access to his files. I hesitated, then declined Ford’s generous offer. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake. However, at the time, I didn’t feel qualified. My doubt led to searching. What next? This question took me to the Bentley Historical Library on the University of Michigan campus. I had no idea what I was looking for. I opened one of the card catalog drawers.
One of the cards referenced the diary of Jerome Robbins of the Second Michigan Volunteer Infantry. Robbins was a medical steward, and later an assistant surgeon. There was a peculiar mention of Sarah Edmonds, who was referred to as Frank Thompson. I became curious. I decide to read his journal. Robbins wrote of his friendship with Frank, then his sense of betrayal upon learning that Frank was a woman, Sarah Edmonds. Despite his knowledge and the military policy against women serving in the Army, Robbins protected her identity, writing in his journal entry of 16 November 1861, “Please allow these leaves to be closed until the author’s permission is given for them opening,” underscoring the need for privacy in regard to the sensitive account.” He glued the pages together to prevent others from reading his note.
What began as an act of boredom resulted in a thirty year adventure with Sarah/Frank, and the Second Michigan Volunteer Infantry. Besides extensive research, I tramped the grounds they trod. I listened to their stories and read about their pranks, hardships, and deaths. I studied weather conditions and medical procedures, battlefield reports, correspondence and journals, news articles, church records, and history. As much as my imagination allowed, I entered their era to bear witness to their lives. This past February, I posted a blog titled “Grocery Shopping with Mister Lincoln’s Elephant Boys” that gives a brief glimpse into the process of writing Mister Lincoln’s Elephant Boys. The novel is due out in September.
In writing the novel, I had to ask numerous questions both of the texts I was reading and myself. What were these men and women teaching me? What new insights could I bring to potential readers? Most daunting of all, how could I honor their memories and those of the Black people seeking freedom? How could I give an account that would avoid boring readers, but, instead, allow the reader to see and feel what they experienced? I wanted to answer these questions by writing a novel rather than either a biography or a history book. Much had already been written about Emma.
Boredom can be a tool for creativity, a means of encouraging contemplation, introduce us to the unexpected, and a stimulus to the imagination.
What will you do with your boredom? You may be surprised.
References
1: The Unengaged Mind: Defining Boredom in Terms of Attention
2: Boredom Is Good for You
https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2017/06/make-time-for-boredom/524514/
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