The Antidote To Boredom

Johnny Cash's "One Piece at a Time" car.
Storyteller's Farm & Museum
Photo: Gary Firstenberg.

When I first heard someone share John Updike's notion of four life forces -- love, habit, time and boredom -- I found myself inwardly scoffing at the last of these, boredom. Why? Because at the time I said to myself, "I'm never bored. There is always way more to do than there is time. I have more books, more projects, more aspirations than I will ever accomplish."

Since that time, though, I have come to see that boredom has played a bigger factor in my life than I'd previously realized. And perhaps this is true for you, too.

I'll give an example. 

When I first began experimenting with AI art applications, I was mesmerized by what they can do. I didn't want to go to sleep at night because I want to play with these new toys. I had one of these apps on my iPhone and tried out every feature. I used a couple others on m laptop that were even more stupefying. (Here are examples of things I created with AI assistance.)

After a while, though, being "blown away" by these images--and the speed with which they can be produced--lost some of its luster. How is it that making mind-blowing images can so quickly become boring? 

One reason is that it's too easy... The illustrations are still very cool, and I like making them for this blog, but there is no real challenge. 

What I began to realize is that when we stop challenging ourselves, things get boring. Even life can get boring. Behind this thought is the real culprit. We are afraid to fail. Fear of failure paralyzes us, so we don't write the book that is in us or learn a new language or whatever it is that we'd like to achieve. So we lower the bar. That is, we lower our expectations so we're not disappointed. 

The antidote to boredom, therefore, is to have goals that challenge us. Go big! The bigger the better.

Here's a blog post I wrote along these lines in 2011. Maybe it will speak to you: Start a Huge Foolish Project. 

* * * 

Boredom: A Blessing or a Curse?

"It is the unknown that excites the ardor of scholars, who, in the known alone, would shrivel up from boredom."
--Wallace Stevens

Eleven years ago this weekend I wrote about John Updike's four life forces: love, habit, time and boredom. When I first heard this notion I found the last most surprising, but having periodically contemplated these things over the years I've concluded that he was onto something.

Here are a few thoughtful or thought-provoking observations about boredom worth pondering. 

* * * 

"Boredom is the feeling that everything is a waste of time; serenity, that nothing is." 
--Thoma Szasz

"Isn't history ultimately the result of our fear of boredom?"
--Emile Cioran

"I am convinced that boredom is one of the greatest tortures. If I were to imagine Hell, it would be the place where you were continually bored."
--Erich Fromm

"Boredom is therefore a vital problem for the moralist, since at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it."
--Bertrand Russell

"The two enemies of human happiness are pain and boredom."
– Arthur Schopenhauer

"Boredom is the deadliest poison."
--William F. Buckley, Jr.

* * * 

Is boredom a gift or a curse? If it moves us to action, perhaps it can be called a gift. If we suffer from chronic boredom, it may be a clue that something else is wrong with us. Just as pain is an indicator that something is wrong with our physical selves, so it may be that boredom is an indicator that something is amiss with our souls. 

Some people suggest that boredom is a key ingredient in the creative process.

Here's an intriguing quote from Flaubert's Madame Bovary. "But her life was as cold as an attic facing north; and boredom, like a silent spider, was weaving its web in the shadows, in every corner of her heart." 

* * * 

I had a friend who used to say, "Sometimes boring is good." He was talking about investments at the time but it can apply to other things as well. We've heard the expression "drama queen" as a reference to people who have exaggerated or overly emotional reactions to events or situations. Much of that drama is self-created through bad choices, risky ventures or simply a need to be the center of attention.

What do you think?

This Day In History: Ted Williams Tales

THIS DAY IN HISTORY

Ted Williams hits his final homer #521 (off Jack Fisher)

Early Ted Williams baseball card
(oldest in my possession)

No question about it, Ted Williams was one of the great hitters of all time in Major League Baseball. On this day in 1941 the Boston Red Sox star ended the season with a .406 batting average, the last player to bat over .400 for a complete season. His On Base Percentage (a measure of a player's ability to get on base) was the highest of all time in pro baseball.

To illustrate OBP, consider my first year of baseball after Little League. Little League was for kids 8-12. Babe Ruth League is what you played when you were 13-18. Even though I was a Little League All Star, when I turned 13 and played in Babe Ruth League I was a runt. I never got a hit the whole season. Yet, even though I struck out 13 times, I also walked 13 times, so my On Base Percentage was .500.  That is, half the time I went to the plate I got on base.

Ted Williams got on base by base hits, but also by discipline. He made pitchers throw the ball over the plate. He did not swing wildly at pitches outside the strike zone. He wasn't ashamed to take a walk. He knew that every runner who gets on base, by any means, is a potential run.

For more read:

John Updike On Ted Williams

I consider it an honor that this blog post was re-posted on the John Updike Society website.

 

Other Events of Significance on This Day

In 1066 William the Conqueror invaded England

The Jesse James Gang's surprise attack of a train in 1864 results in 150 killed. 

In 1908 Henry Ford's first Model T rolls out of the Piquette Plant in Detroit.

In 1954, the Tonight Show premiered with host Steve Allen.

In 1963, Lee Harvey Oswald visited the Cuban Consulate in Mexico City.

In 2021, Ed Newman published his 5,195th post on his Ennyman's Territory blog.

Have a great, and grateful, day.

OH NO! EVERYTHING HERE IS WRONG. THIS ALL HAPPENED ON SEPT. 27.

NOT INTENDED TO BE FAKE NEWS... LET'S CALL IT MISTAKE NEWS.

My apologies to those who count on me for accurate reporting. This is a reminder to verify before you share. 

Throwback Thursday: The Greatest Baseball Player of All Time

My junior year in high school at BRHS-West I wrote a paper for English class on the theme, "Who was the greatest baseball player of all time." I was passionate about my theme because I was, at that time, passionate about the Great American Game. I researched my butt off, wrestling with the problem of establishing criteria for comparing stats of old timers and current players. I likewise had to determine how much weight to give fielding skills, leadership, base running and pitching.

When all was said and done, I wrote what I thought was a stellar paper. Ty Cobb, the Georgia Peach, was the greatest. And when all was said and done, Ms. Saltzbart graced that paper with a U and U-. U (Unsatisfactory) for research, and U- for the writing itself.

Now for the record, up until that time I had always been an A student. I was in the honors programs, and even in Ms. Saltzbart's class I had almost all Aces throughout the year so that my final grade averaged to be a C in the fourth quarter even with these bad marks, my first C in high school. And like the dutiful "good kid" I was, I accepted my fate... except, I had to ask why this happened. Where had I gone wrong?

When I went to speak with her after class the following day she replied that I failed because, "Joe DiMaggio is the greatest baseball player of all time." That was the sum total of why I failed. She had nothing more to say.

All these years I dismissed her conclusion as wacko. Until today, actually. It may be that all my rambling comparisons of baseball stats missed something important. In Hemingway's Nobel Prize-winning Old Man and the Sea, Santiago took inspiration from DiMaggio, the man who never gave up. The theme song from the Oscar-winning The Graduate features this Paul Simon line, "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?" The great pop culture status icon Marilyn Monroe even married the guy. In other words, I never factored in the effect Joe DiMaggio had had on the broader culture.

Seven player strikes and all the wrangling over contracts, salaries and taxes for stadiums has taken a lot of luster off the Great American Game. There was a time when It Happens Every Spring played on Saturday Night at the Movies the weekend before the season opener. There was a time when everyone knew more than a few of the stars. And literary giants wrote about the men who played it.

One such literary giant of our century past was John Updike, and the player he wrote an incredible baseball essay about was Ted Williams. Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu is a must read if you were ever a fan of baseball. The essay, which begins as follows, appeared in The New Yorker in 1960 back when I was reading Casper the Friendly Ghost comics. The opening is wonderful.

Fenway Park, in Boston, is a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. Everything is painted green and seems in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg. It was built in 1912 and rebuilt in 1934, and offers, as do most Boston artifacts, a compromise between Man's Euclidean determinations and Nature's beguiling irregularities. Its right field is one of the deepest in the American League, while its left field is the shortest; the high left-field wall, three hundred and fifteen feet from home plate along the foul line, virtually thrusts its surface at right-handed hitters. On the afternoon of Wednesday, September 28th, as I took a seat behind third base, a uniformed groundkeeper was treading the top of this wall, picking batting-practice home runs out of the screen, like a mushroom gatherer seen in Wordsworthian perspective on the verge of a cliff. The day was overcast, chill, and uninspirational. The Boston team was the worst in twenty-seven seasons. A jangling medley of incompetent youth and aging competence, the Red Sox were finishing in seventh place only because the Kansas City Athletics had locked them out of the cellar. They were scheduled to play the Baltimore Orioles, a much nimbler blend of May and December, who had been dumped from pennant contention a week before by the insatiable Yankees. I, and 10,453 others, had shown up primarily because this was the Red Sox's last home game of the season, and therefore the last time in all eternity that their regular left fielder, known to the headlines as TED, KID, SPLINTER, THUMPER, TW, and, most cloyingly, MISTER WONDERFUL, would play in Boston. "WHAT WILL WE DO WITHOUT TED? HUB FANS ASK" ran the headline on a newspaper being read by a bulb-nosed cigar smoker a few rows away. Williams' retirement had been announced, doubted (he had been threatening retirement for years), confirmed by Tom Yawkey, the Red Sox owner, and at last widely accepted as the sad but probable truth. He was forty-two and had redeemed his abysmal season of 1959 with a—considering his advanced age—fine one. He had been giving away his gloves and bats and had grudgingly consented to a sentimental ceremony today. This was not necessarily his last game; the Red Sox were scheduled to travel to New York and wind up the season with three games there.

Ted Williams was another of the great ones. It may be that had I read Updike before writing about Ty Cobb I would have produced a better paper. Or if I had taken a typing class freshman year instead of senior year, since my handwriting may have been a tad too illegible for a teacher staring at a pile of term papers through eyes befogged by cocktails. ("Objection! Calls for speculation.")

I would strongly encourage you to follow this link and bookmark the Updike piece. It's a masterful work and one of the greater bits of baseball literature ever written.

Trivia: Joe DiMaggio's contract, when making appearances, stipulated that he be introduced as "the greatest baseball player of all time." May we ourselves never be quite so vain.

* * * *
This blog post was originally published on August 11, 2010.
Check out this page to see who Encyclopedia Britannica's editor picked as the Top Ten Baseball Players of All Time.

Flashback Friday: Phenomenon Revisited

"Everything is on its way to somewhere." --George Malley

I recently watched the movie Phenomenon again. For those who haven't seen it, John Travolta plays George, the central character, a somewhat slow-witted nice guy who has a strange experience that awakens his consciousness and begins to hyperactivate his mind. In short, he becomes a phenomenon.

The movie does a wonderful job of presenting George's struggle as he seeks to understand what is happening to him. His friends, however, are equally befuddled and the unanswered questions that arise from their own insecurities cause misunderstanding, pain and rejection. It's almost as scary to know a phenomenon as to be one.

In my opinion it was a good story well told. Like all good stories, it unearthed regions of my own soul, areas I have mined before and will mine again because I believe their are still some precious stones to uncover there.

It is a life theme to which I often return. Are we not each a phenomenon in our own way? What is the meaning of my life? What are my unique gifts? Where has my power come from from? And how much of it is unused, undeveloped, unactivated.

We use so little of our strength, our psychic powers, our capabilities. We choose, instead, to live in a dark, dull, ill-lit corridor called 'life', a cramped hallway with narrow walls, yellowed, peeling wallpaper, moldy and stifling. Windowless and without wind. No unpredictable weather. And we wonder why it bores us, why we've lost our passion.

John Updike made the observation that there are Four Life Forces: Love, Habit, Time and Boredom. Love and Habit are powerful, giving short term energy and stability to our lives. Time has a more long term grinding influence. But Boredom, the great leveler, is a prison that captures us subtly. When boredom becomes a habit, apathy sets in and life passes us by.

For you, may it never be so.

John Updike On Ted Williams

My junior year in high school at BRHS-West I wrote a paper for English class on the theme, "Who was the greatest baseball player of all time." I was passionate about my theme because I was, at the time, passionate myself about the Great American Game. I researched my butt off, wrestling with the problem of establishing criteria for comparing stats of old timers and current players. I likewise had to determine how much weight to give fielding skills, leadership, base running, and pitching.

When all was said and done, I wrote what I thought was a stellar paper. Ty Cobb was the greatest. And when all was said and done, Ms. Saltzbart graced that paper with a U and U-. U for research, and U- for the writing itself.

Now for the record, I was an A student. I was in the honors programs, and even in Ms. Saltzbart's class I had almost all Aces throughout the year so that my final grade averaged to be a C in the fourth quarter even with these bad marks, my first C in high school. And like the dutiful "good kid" I was, I accepted my fate... except, I had to ask why this happened. Where had I gone wrong.

When I went to speak with her after class the following day she replied that I failed because, "Joe Dimaggio is the greatest baseball player of all time." That was the sum total of why I failed. She had nothing more to say.

All these years I dismissed her conclusion as wacko. Until today, actually. It may be that all my rambling comparisons of baseball stats missed something important. In Hemingway's Nobel Prize-winning Old Man and the Sea, Santiago took inspiration from DiMaggio, the man who never gave up. The theme song from Oscar-winning The Graduate features this Paul Simon line, "Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio." The great pop culture status icon Marilyn Monroe even married the guy. In other words, I never factored in the effect Joe DiMaggio had on the broader culture.

Seven player strikes and all the wrangling over contracts, salaries and taxes for stadiums has taken a lot of luster off the Great American Game. There was a time when It Happens Every Spring played on Saturday Night at the Movies the weekend before the season opener. There was a time when everyone knew at least a few of the stars. And literary giants wrote about the men who played it.

One such literary giant of our century past was John Updike, and the player he wrote an incredible baseball essay about was Ted Williams. Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu is a must read if you were ever a fan of baseball. The essay, which begins as follows, appeared in The New Yorker in 1960, back when I was reading Casper the Friendly Ghost comics. The opening is wonderful.

Fenway Park, in Boston, is a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. Everything is painted green and seems in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg. It was built in 1912 and rebuilt in 1934, and offers, as do most Boston artifacts, a compromise between Man's Euclidean determinations and Nature's beguiling irregularities. Its right field is one of the deepest in the American League, while its left field is the shortest; the high left-field wall, three hundred and fifteen feet from home plate along the foul line, virtually thrusts its surface at right-handed hitters. On the afternoon of Wednesday, September 28th, as I took a seat behind third base, a uniformed groundkeeper was treading the top of this wall, picking batting-practice home runs out of the screen, like a mushroom gatherer seen in Wordsworthian perspective on the verge of a cliff. The day was overcast, chill, and uninspirational. The Boston team was the worst in twenty-seven seasons. A jangling medley of incompetent youth and aging competence, the Red Sox were finishing in seventh place only because the Kansas City Athletics had locked them out of the cellar. They were scheduled to play the Baltimore Orioles, a much nimbler blend of May and December, who had been dumped from pennant contention a week before by the insatiable Yankees. I, and 10,453 others, had shown up primarily because this was the Red Sox's last home game of the season, and therefore the last time in all eternity that their regular left fielder, known to the headlines as TED, KID, SPLINTER, THUMPER, TW, and, most cloyingly, MISTER WONDERFUL, would play in Boston. "WHAT WILL WE DO WITHOUT TED? HUB FANS ASK" ran the headline on a newspaper being read by a bulb-nosed cigar smoker a few rows away. Williams' retirement had been announced, doubted (he had been threatening retirement for years), confirmed by Tom Yawkey, the Red Sox owner, and at last widely accepted as the sad but probable truth. He was forty-two and had redeemed his abysmal season of 1959 with a—considering his advanced age—fine one. He had been giving away his gloves and bats and had grudgingly consented to a sentimental ceremony today. This was not necessarily his last game; the Red Sox were scheduled to travel to New York and wind up the season with three games there.

Ted Williams was another of the great ones. It may be that had I read Updike before writing about Ty Cobb I would have produced a better paper. Or if I had taken a typing class freshman year instead of senior year since my handwriting may have been a tad too illegible for a teacher staring at a pile of term papers through eyes befogged by cocktails. ("Objection! Calls for speculation.")

I would strongly encourage you to follow this link and bookmark the Updike piece. It's a masterful work and one of the greater bits of baseball literature ever written.

Trivia: Joe DiMaggio's contract, when making appearances, stipulated that he be introduced as "the greatest baseball player of all time." May we ourselves never be so vain.

Reflections on a Phenomenon

I recently watched the movie Phenomenon again. For those who haven't seen it, John Travolta plays George, the central character, a somewhat slow-witted nice guy who has a strange experience that awakens his consciousness and begins to hyperactivate his mind. In short, he becomes a phenomenon.

The movie does a wonderful job of presenting George's struggle as he seeks to understand what is happening to him. His friends, however, are equally befuddled and the unanswered questions that arise from their own insecurities cause misunderstanding, pain and rejection. It's almost as scary to know a phenomenon as to be one.

In my opinion it was a good story well told. Like all good stories, it unearthed regions of my own soul, areas I have mined before and will mine again because I believe their are still some precious stones to uncover there.

It is a life theme to which I often return. Are we not each a phenomenon in our own way? What is the meaning of my life? What are my unique gifts? Where has my power come from from? And how much of it is unused, undeveloped, unactivated.

We use so little of our strength, our psychic powers, our capabilities. We choose, instead, to live in a dark, dull, ill-lit corridor called 'life', a cramped hallway with narrow walls, yellowed, peeling wallpaper, moldy and stifling. Windowless and without wind. No unpredictable weather. And we wonder why it bores us, why we've lost our passion.

John Updike made the observation that there are Four Life Forces: Love, Habit, Time and Boredom. Love and Habit are powerful, giving short term energy and stability to our lives. Time has a more long term grinding influence. But Boredom, the great leveller, is a prison that captures us subtly. When boredom becomes a habit, life passes us by.

For you, may it never be so.