Happy Are You Bored

 One thing I admire about Millenials is that many of them are hustlers. What I mean is that for those who are motivated, they "optimize to monetize." Maybe it was the '08 crash that made a lasting impression on them as kids, and they vowed to do things differently to ensure they didn't face the same financial distress as those they saw going through it. Many young professionals, it seems, will work their 9-5 (or 8-6, 7-7, whatever) corporate job, and then use their waking or late-night after hours to start a YouTube channel, moonlight an online business, do IT consulting, invest in real estate to create multiple passive income streams. They have no company loyalty (which is not a bad thing) and have no issues switching jobs every few years for five-figure salary bumps. Maybe it's the modern-day equivalent of post-Depression era grandparents having a stockpile of canned goods in the basement or refusing to throw anything out "just in case 'it' happens again."

There are signs this hustle culture may be rethinking their priorities, though. It's a hard pace to keep indefinitely, and burnout and the phenomenon of "quiet quitting" seems to be taking hold in many of those in #beastmode.

I remember in my twenties not having the skills to make good money, but committed to using my spare time for projects to generate extra cash (since I made so little): I built custom platform beds to sell, built bikes up in the basement of my apartment to sell, sewed custom outdoor equipment and messenger bags to sell. Even my gardening hobby was geared towards maximizing food production to cut my grocery bill. 

In my thirties, with a couple of little tykes at home, I still did a lot of that. I did some freelance writing for an apostolate that paid a little bit to cover groceries, repaired and flipped furniture I found for free on Craigslist, taught a few university courses as an adjunct, hosted international students in our home to help pay the mortgage, and worked some extra W-2 jobs. None of these paid particularly well, but every little bit helped, and I was happy to stay "busy."

Now in my forties, I feel like I've slowed down a lot. There's still grass to be mowed and things to be built and repaired, but I've lost some of that energy I had in my twenties and thirties. My back can't take hauling dressers down flights of stairs by myself anymore, and I've probably lost a percentage of testosterone as well as I've reached middle age. We are in a relatively comfortable financial situation (though sometimes it feels like "death by a thousand cuts" when I look at our credit card bill at convenience spending, Amazon, etc). My job is pretty regular hours with a "don't let the door hit you on the way out" hard stop, and I'm not as willing anymore to sacrifice the time with my family since we're doing okay. The law of work is that you trade time for money. And I'd rather have more of the former. 

My dad recognized this early on in his life and committed to banking everything he could early, investing, and leveraging the power of compounding to retire from his job at age 51 after thirty years of teaching high school. He has enjoyed every moment of retirement, it seems. I still remember a painting that hung above my parents' dresser growing up, a mountain scene in Colorado with the words "Nothing is ours, but time." I tried to recreate it, here.

But it's a funny thing--I also remember growing up being really bored a lot of the time. And it wasn't for lack of things to do...it was just that there were more opportunities to be bored. We didn't have smartphones. I didn't really play video games. We built bmx jumps in the woods down the street, went to a water hole where there was a rope swing in the summer, drove around. In high school, I always had a Penquin paperback in the back pocket of my corduroys and my idea of "optimization" then was to read on the bus, waiting for a pick-up, or in between classes. But there were other times where we were just plain bored. It was built into the fabric of our childhoods, and gave a lot of time for daydreaming and creativity to ferment.  

The advent of the smartphone has completely killed the phenomenon of boredom, not to mention the ability to concentrate or, gasp, read. If you're bored, you fish your phone out of your pocket and scroll or browse. Go to any sporting event or whatever with your kids and all the parents are doing it. You're weird if you put your phone down and attempt to have a conversation with one of them. But I'm just as guilty as the rest of them. We've traded our time for money for convenience so that we are never bored. Our attention has been hog-tied and sacrificed like a goat on the altar of technology. It is an extremely strong current to fight against.

It's a slow time for me at work, and when I'm in the office sometimes I find myself just staring at the wall, or looking out the window when I don't have any work to do. It's an unfamiliar thing, given how rare moments of boredom are for modern man with a digital universe in his pocket. And it's slightly uncomfortable, too. I feel like I should be doing something (if I had something to do, of course, I would be doing it in those moments). But I'm trying to force myself into those uncomfortable moments of downtime when they come, rather than optimizing them with something else, or trivializing them with my attention scrolling this or that.

But something else has been sacrificed here, and that's really what I want to write about in this post. And that is the white space that can and should be built into our lives which is not devoted to any thing. Americans pride themselves on being "busy." Our kids are in sports, every waking moment is scheduled with this or that (even good Catholic things), we shuttle and drive our kids to this or that function or event. Even as homeschooling parents (my wife doing 99% of the homeschooling), I see that even though our kids get their schooling done in 3-4 hours, the time gets "filled up" with no shortage of good, wholesome, engaging things for them to take part in. Co-ops, sports groups, socials, theater. We as a family are not over-scheduled, but we are 'scheduled.' That's just the reality of every parent's life. Even more so for large families with four or more kids. 

But I recently came across a quote that made me think. It said, "Love and hurry are fundamentally incompatible. Love always takes time, and time is the one thing hurried people don't have." The reality is that we make time for what is important to us. And some families are busier than others given their circumstances. But just like Fr. Thomas DuBay's Happy Are You Poor is an uncomfortable book to read because it pushes you beyond where you really are comfortable going (with regards to material wealth, even as a husband or wife with a family), I think this idea of always being busy (or, to a lesser degree, always being 'scheduled out') should be pushed on a little bit.

I recently had three instances which I really appreciated--two conversations, and one general interaction--given the situation three particular friends find themselves. I was the needy one, but these three friends took time to love/listen to me, without feeling like I was a burden or inconvenience. 

In the first instance, a friend in the midst of a move to Germany with her husband who had just sold their house the week before took a good forty five minutes to listen to me complain about and work through something that was bothering me. I think it was beneficial for her as well, but given that I was just lying on the couch and she was in the middle of packing up boxes, fielding calls with realtors, and trying to find a temporary rental, it meant a lot to me. Because she spent the currency of time and attention on me for that forty-five minutes without trying to get off the phone with me. 

In the second instance, a couple weeks ago, my friend Boniface did the same for me when I was struggling with my writing and motivation, and just discouragement in general. He is a guy who by necessity schedules to the half-hour every part of his day, but again, never made me feel like I was an inconvenience or bothersome. He gave me his time, attention, and fraternal love over the course of an hour. And again, it meant a lot because I knew it wasn't cheap time for him.

In the third instance, a friend who is a doctor with four kids would make time for me in efficient ways (like meeting him at his son's soccer games, or giving him a ride to the auto mechanic to pick up his car) so that even though it was double-duty use of time, he didn't dismiss my need for charity because of a lack of time. He simply found time for me in little pockets. 

I know this is just the reality of many of our lives, especially those with big families. But I do worry sometimes that we miss opportunities to just 'be' with someone in their times of need (whether that is a friend or stranger, a lonely millionaire or a struggling single mom) because we send the signal that we "don't have time"...because we've scheduled ourselves out not accounting for these 'need moments.' 

How can we practice charity with our most valuable currency--our time--when we have so little of it? Is it (and this is the gentle push), simply because we don't prioritize those moments that might leave us bored when a need doesn't arise? Or maybe because we are too spent to care to listen to someone else's problems, or do corporal acts of mercy, or simply visit or sit with someone?

At First Saturday Mass yesterday, I chose as my fifteen minute meditation the mystery of the Visitation. Mary's charity was so pure, so selfless, that even while pregnant with the SON OF GOD, she made haste to visit her cousin who was in her sixth month of pregnancy (with John the Baptist). Now, it could be true that she felt as compelled to go to share this mystery with Elizabeth for her own benefit (killing two birds with one stone), but that is not something born out of selfishness. And she didn't duck out after a week or so, but presumably stayed, it says in scripture, until John was born (Lk 1:26-47), which was about three months time. It's a meditation worth meditating on.

St. Ignatius was laid up after the Battle of Pamplona with a broken leg, and it was during that time of convalescence and white space/boredom that he was converted. An achiever-type, he reached for a romance book of fiction to pass the time and fantasize about getting back on the battlefield for glory and honor, but all he found instead was The Life of Christ and a book on the saints, which the Lord serendipitously used to win his heart when he was incapacitated. 

Does someone need to tell you, "You're too busy?" I don't know your life situation, but it's worth asking yourself that question as a kind of audit about what you are spending your time on. Is it simply to fill the day? Avoid boredom? Stay active? What percentage of your day is "nothing space?" What percentage would you say you devote to charity or prayer? Are there things you could cut out, the 'empty calories' of time, which could be devoted more purposefully? What are you 'spending' your time on?

How many moments is the Lord waiting for us, to make time for Him and Him alone? Or how much do we really give to serve Him in the poor and those in need (or even a friend), or make available time specifically for that purpose. If time, attention, and charity are the most valuable currencies we possess, the virtue then is not in the 'doing,' but the being. Of course there are limits, and we need to be mindful of our responsibilities, our households, and our state in life. But it can be trans-formative, too, because people aren't used to having time and attention "wasted" on them.