This long weekend has been boring. Happily boring, which is a new thing for me.
I used to equate boredom with depression. When I was really young, I would say I was bored and mean I was really sad or lonely and didn’t know what to do. It actually took me years to realize that boredom and depression are two different things because boredom was such a trigger for my depression. I just didn’t have the right word for it.
In college, one three-day weekends, many people would go visit their families, of course. I usually stuck around and I was lonely and bored. And really, really, severely depressed. Again, it seemed like the same thing for me. It’s a visceral memory for me – being in the quiet dorms with just the out of state students left for company. I’d walk and walk and read and read and try to outrun the feelings.
So you can see why it felt like a minor miracle that this weekend has been extraordinarily boring and restful and it feels fine. This is what mundane progress looks like.