Three Shades of Boredom

Tonight I've been thinking about this Annie Dillard quote that has graced my blog profile for quite some time now: "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." And I am so unimpressed with how I've been spending my days, and, consequently, my life. Dragging myself out of bed in the morning to a job I don't love, yearning for lunchtime, then for quitting time, and dragging myself through traffic back to my little apartment where I collapse to watch the trivial sillinesses of television, maybe wash a few dishes, read a few pages of a book I'm too tired to fully appreciate, and then collapse into bed. Repeat on Tuesday.

Sitting in traffic on the way home today I thought, "Is this it? Seriously? Is this what we are all going to do with our lives for the rest of our lives?"

Like never ever before, I live for the weekend. For a chance to relax, to enjoy breakfast, to go for a walk, to do laundry, to feel like a human being again. The work week makes me feel like some exhausted robot, but on Saturday I become a little bird who is free to flit here and there, to sing a song, to love the flowers. Of course, Monday wastes no time in returning; it is as certain as Death.

Still, I can't blame my job or the traffic or the never-ending dishes piling up. These are the details, the frame work, but not the center. It is the center that matters--and my center is comatose. I remember times in life when I was so passionate--preaching the gospel, writing poetry, falling in love, learning--times I felt a fire in my bones, as Jeremiah said. These days I'm lucky to get a spark.

Perhaps the monotony of ordinary time--nothing to mourn, no special reason to celebrate--is the most dangerous. We are lulled to sleep by the cyclical, repetitive hum of living. We lose track; we forget; we set the cruise control and drift on through. God, for a jolt, a push, an earthquake.