I am deeply afraid of boredom. It’s the reason why I choose challenging tasks over easy ones, work over idle gossip. It’s only when I’m doing something purposeful that I feel I’m sucking the marrow out of life and living to the full.

In high school, I was often bored and I dreaded it — being listless, full of pent up energy that I couldn’t channel to anything creative, absorbing, engaging. So I ended up playing computer games often and losing myself in virtual adventures and their false achievements. Or reading books, but, living in a small town, good ones were so hard to find, and when I did manage to find a book that sang or built worlds or opened a new eye in my mind finishing it was inevitable and getting to the end always left me feeling a little bit abandoned and yearning for more.

When I was in college, I threw myself at humanitarian work for four years before the eventual burn out crept in along with the disillusionment born from the knowledge of just how corrupt human beings can be.

Now, I’m a teacher and I throw myself at my work though I try to be more disciplined about my passion, understanding finally that willpower, motivation and energy are finite. I am more and more concerned about sustainability, about living like a long distance runner rather than the mad and frenzied dasher that I was in my teens.

Though I hate doing things half-assed, still. If I do something half-hearted, I always end up haunted by regret. So I continue steering the course of my life, captain of my own ship, toward rougher waters and all the time straining to keep boredom at bay.


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