Is boredom really the price of a meaningful life?

Last week, I went to a coaching/therapy-themed book club (wonderfully niche).

We were discussing Dr. Irvin Yalom’s book ‘Hour of the Heart’, in which he describes his experiences as an aging therapist contending with cognitive decline.

Yalom is a big figure in existential psychotherapy (though admittedly I’d never heard of him before). He’s the guy that identified four ‘ultimate concerns’ beneath the anxiety and internal conflict that every human experiences. These four concerns are death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness.

Having discussed the idea of aging at length, naturally the discussion veered, as though by gravitational pull, to the question of meaningfulness.

We went in circles. None of us, for all our ages, backgrounds or experiences, could find an adequate answer to the question: “What is a meaningful life, actually?”

Somebody hopefully threw in the Japanese concept of ikigai - the idea that a person derives a great sense of purpose through dedication and societal respect for their work, whether they’re a politician or a street cleaner, meaning that their lives are imbued with duty and meaning.

Ikigai is a Japanese concept meaning ‘a reason for being’ or ‘the reason for which you get up in the morning’. It represents the intersection of what you love, what you are good at, what the world needs, and what you can be paid for, guiding a life of purpose, joy, and balance.

I sat up straight. “So Japanese people must be happy!” I proclaimed. “They’ve cracked the code. Right?”

Then, somebody burst my bubble by pointing out that Japan has one of the highest suicide rates among OECD nations1. Depression is prevalent and the country faces a major public health crisis regarding overwork and social isolation.

Well… shit.

We were stumped.

This brought us back to Yalom’s core existential givens: death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness, and the idea that, perhaps, isolation curtails meaning. You can’t matter without other people.

I was listening to the Nuance Needed podcast this week (one of my faves). On the latest episode, author Jennifer Wallace defines ‘mattering’ as a fundamental human need, a combination of feeling valued by others and adding value back to your family, friends, colleagues, and community.

Basically, the idea that meaningfulness comes from having an impact on, and being valued by, other people. The most meaningful moments are rarely the job promotion or the fancy holiday, but rather in the small, intimate ones shared with others.

Thoughts on home

Life in Lisbon is going well. Surprisingly well, actually. But this last week, I’ve been thinking a lot about home.

I’m not ‘homesick’, exactly. Yet my heart has been quietly yearning for something that I can’t quite pinpoint.

What comes to mind when I think of my hometown is visiting my parents on the weekend. Of going into the office, completing work projects, chatting with my colleagues. Of seeing friends I have history with, supporting them through the ups and downs of life. Of long runs in nature and watching sunsets from the beach. Of following community Facebook groups and local politics. Of quietly delighting when a new art exhibition rolls into town or an experimental new restaurant opens, and enjoying the discourse that ensues.

It’s a subtle feeling of depth, of belonging, of community.

Then I wonder: do I actually miss my hometown, or do I miss feeling being part of something bigger? Of having more impact on people? Of feeling like I matter?

Novelty doesn’t equal meaning

My hometown held very little novelty. A lot of the time, life there was ‘boring’, at least by most people’s standards.

But, despite that… life there was deeply rich and meaningful.

It got me thinking about this article by psychotherapist Daniel Smith. He writes about the drudgery of life as a new father, and how he relates to it now:

“Much of what displays a pattern - lifelong friendships, enduring marriages, serious scholarship, the making of art, prayer, Sunday mornings in winter - is also pregnant with meaning. Boredom is the price we pay for a life rich with meaning. Recognising this makes the feeling more endurable.”

In short, there’s meaning in the mundane.

Life in Lisbon represents the opposite of this. Thinking of Yalom’s elements, I have freedom in spades. I’m trying new things all the time, meeting new people, embracing discomfort and expanding my sense of self. Satisfaction comes in frequent, potent doses each day. Maslow might say I’m self-actualising hard.

Yet I have the sense, sometimes, of floating through the days. I’m completely unencumbered and beholden only to myself. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. I wonder if the occasional listlessness I feel comes from a need for depth, direction and, maybe, having a deeper impact on others.

It’s still very early days of this new chapter. Maybe in time, my scope in Lisbon will narrow and deepen as I build more routines and deeper connections, putting paid to that feeling. Maybe, maybe not.

The merits of a ‘boring’ life

We teach our kids not to be bored. Boredom is uncomfortable, after all.

But boredom can be a good thing. It helps us stay present. It can catalyse creativity, curiosity and innovation. Sometimes being bored gives us the necessary space to explore, to reflect, and find small, quiet ways to have real impact on others.

Leaning in to a boring, mindful life doesn’t mean you stop growing, either. Over the last five years of living a ‘boring’ life in my hometown, I’ve found many ways to challenge myself. Sometimes you can only take the big risks from a place of safety.

As Daniel Smith alluded to, meaning is in the mundane. Not necessarily the big stuff, like travelling the world or starting a business, but in the small moments. It looks like picking your friend up from the airport, cooking dinner on a Tuesday night for your partner/family, or a colleague opening up to you about their divorce. Focussing on service to the people in your life and letting the rest unfold.

I don’t have any concrete answers to what makes a life meaningful. But I think it has a lot more to do with people, service and impact than it does achievement or novelty.

I’m also starting to think that the desires for freedom and meaning often become entangled. Most of us yearn for freedom in some way or another - but sometimes when we yearn for freedom, what we’re actually yearning for is meaning.

Thanks for reading my rambles. This was a heavy one I admit!

Until next time,

Rose :)