Edvard Munch, Five Puppies on the Carpet, 1919
I was noticing last week that I haven’t felt bored in about three years. When I have nothing to do I read a book or scroll Twitter or write a Substack post or go for a run. Mundane things. I could do all those things back when I often felt bored, too. So what happened? Where did the boredom go?
I know that it has something to do with attention. The way I pay attention has changed. The world feels fresher, more zoomed in. I feel intensely occupied almost all the time, though my life is relatively simple.
I usually give the credit to writing. Writing has made me religious. I proselytize. I pray, which is to say I practice. I’m always waiting for a miracle, with no particular expectations of one actually manifesting.
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