We forgot how to be bored.
My daughter picked up some dirt, and taught me the most valuable life lesson I have had in a while.
My daughter and I played in the dirt today.
Everyone was out in the driveway hanging out at my brother in laws house, listening to music and watching wrestling on his projector. But I did that thing where I was physically there but not really there yet.
Phone out, thumb moving, my brain half in the driveway, half somewhere else. The stupid part is I was scrolling Substack.
So I was reading other people’s thoughts about life while actively missing mine. That is embarrassing enough to be worth writing down for sure.
I caught myself after a little bit and put the phone away. No big dramatic moment. Not a grand realization with soft piano music behind it. It was really just that tiny internal “dude, what are you doing?” that shows up every once in a while when your better self taps on the glass.
This girl really wanted to play in the dirt, so we played in the dirt.
That was literally the whole activity.
We dug around, moved stuff, made a mess, and built what I can only describe as a summoning circle for ants. I don’t know if the ants appreciated the architecture, but spiritually, I think we nailed it.
She got filthy. Like actual dirt filthy.
Not “oh no, there’s a little dust on my shoe” filthy. More like “this child is absolutely going to bring half the yard into the house” filthy.
At some point, I am about 90% sure she ate dirt on a piece of salami.I saw it happen, processed it, and made the executive decision to let that one belong to God.
There are probably parenting books that would have a problem with this.
That’s fine; they can start their own Substack.
Because later, at bedtime, she was still talking about the dirt and the ant friends we made. The weird little adventure that only happened because I put my phone down long enough to let the day become something.
That’s the part I keep coming back to.
I don’t think boredom is really what we hate.
I think we hate the tiny bit of discomfort before it turns into something else.
That little stretch of nothing, the awkward pause.
And as soon as there isn’t a screen telling us what to think about, laugh at, buy, fear, believe, fix, or become? We treat that space like something went wrong.
So we fill it. Standing in line, waiting for coffee, sitting in the car for thirty seconds before seeing the family, hanging out with people we love; we still, somehow find a way to fill it.
Usually with a glowing rectangle full of strangers who are also trying to figure out how to be alive.
I’m not anti-phone.
I’m not anti-internet. I’m definitely not anti-Substack; but I do think we’ve gotten weird about empty space.
We act like every unfilled moment is wasted and we don’t often think that maybe some of them are invitations.
A kid asking you to play in the dirt is not exactly a calendar event. It does not ping you fifteen minutes beforehand. It does not come with a clean little productivity label. It will not improve your brand strategy. It might even involve dirt salami. ☺️
But it is also the kind of thing that gets remembered.
And that is annoying, because I love a good overcomplicated system. I love a plan. I love a tool. I love convincing myself that the next app or workflow or idea is going to finally make me the version of myself who is fully present and emotionally regulated and drinking enough water.
Then my daughter grabs some sticks and accidentally teaches the whole lesson in five minutes:
Put the phone down.
Touch the dirt.
Let the ants have their ritual space.
Just gotta let yourself be bored long enough for real life to find you.