I’m suffering from a very first world problem.
I’m bored.
Maybe you’ve been here before: nothing particularly wrong with your life, no serious stress that you can pin your disquiet upon, just a general feeling of “blah” that never really goes away, no matter how you try to fight it with the usual suspects?
I’m pretty sure in the romantic Victorian days, one would say I was suffering from “malaise.” There’s an old spiritual term that monks used that could also apply: acedia, a state in which one is mentally or spiritually apathetic.
What I know: I want to love my life like I love Doctor Who.
I am somewhat obsessed with Doctor Who. (The Day of the Doctor is just two days away!!!! CAN. NOT. WAIT!) I have watched every episode on Netflix since the end of the last season, cried because my Doctor will be regenerating in the upcoming season, and counted down the days until the 50th Anniversary special like a child counting down to Christmas.
Even thinking about Doctor Who makes me giddy… like the first flush of falling in love or the anticipation of an evening of intimacy… heart beats faster, my emotions are a rollercoaster… yeah, it’s crazy, I know it’s crazy, and I.DON’T.CARE.
Except that I worry when I realize I don’t feel that excited about any other aspect of my life.
It’s like I’m cheating on my life with Doctor Who!
Perhaps cheating is pushing an analogy too far. Then again, maybe not.
Here’s the thing about acedia (where you wondering when that would come back up?)– the monks saw it as a very dangerous sin whose root was apathy. A monk suffering from acedia would begin to complain about the uselessness of his perfectly acceptable and good daily actions. Why pray daily? Why sweep the floor or make my bed? Why work the fields?
The mundane and daily chores that were at the core of monastic life and held together the actual fabric of monastic community would slowly be renounced as pointless and useless distractions.
BORING.
Whatever fancy or theological terms you want to use, it boiled down to a monk deciding that regular life was too tedious and boring. So they’d just quit doing stuff. Hole up in their bedroom and just stare at the walls, sighing. Question the point of getting out of bed and then living in general.
When people in committed relationships feel that way, they often resort to cheating.
Cheating for a monk could mean running away from his monastery, refusing to leave his room, or even suicide. In a marriage, that looks like picking up someone on the side and funneling all your attention and energy into wooing and sneaking around with the affair partner.
In my relationship with my life, it looks like watching Doctor Who episodes back-to-back for days on end.
Anything to avoid the “boring” and “tedious” details of living a first world life– you know, the kind that means you aren’t struggling to find clean water, a safe place to sleep, or food to eat.
Here’s the personal epiphany (this is my lesson, but you can keep reading if you want to…)
It’s easy to get caught up in the idea of living an “ideal” life… one in which the work I do each day is ALWAYS interesting, challenging, and fulfilling, my marriage is a daily romantic romp, and parenting is this easy-breasy experience resulting in perfect children who are bright, obedient, and a continual fount of joy.
It’s easy to think the day-to-day tasks that make my life run smoothly are boring and useless. That I’m missing out on something if every moment doesn’t make me want to burst into Disney-esque songs about the joy of living and loving.
Washing one more dish, filing one more report, doing one more load of laundry can feel like running on a never ending hamster wheel of pointlessness.
But that’s acedia talking.
That’s taking the blessings in my life for granted talking.
That’s showing an utter lack of respect for the small, daily actions that maintain what is actually a pretty wonderful–and REAL– good life.