Yesterday, I was journaling a new thought, an ah-ha, a nugget I didn’t want to lose.

And then, in my periphery of thought I could see a rabbit hole to enter.

It had a theshold that was worn smooth,

because I had been down that specific path before.

Packed dirt at the entrance,

a slight dip where I had placed a foot a thousand times.

I went down it. Mostly because I was nearly finished with what I had begun moments before. Mostly out of habit.

Oh, this was satisfying. It was a retelling (for the thousandth time) of a wrong done to me. I could do this dark, deep hole in my sleep, with the sight of a star mole, able to see beyond the eye.

And I got bored.

In the middle of the hole, the path, the oft-traveled storyline,

I got bored.

Because I’m done with that story.

Oh boredom! Oh freedom! Oh moving on!

There is a modern saying that each time we give a child a screen, we steal their boredom.

I think that each time we fail to witness our own growth, we steal our boredom.

There is a point we rarely reach, in our story telling of pain and very real woe. We’re afraid to tell it too often, or we tell it to the wrong folks who aren’t paying attention and every cell in us feels the neglect, or we feel whiney so we stop.

When we stop the retelling of a painful story, we stop the process. Like watching seeds planted in a hydroponic counter germinator, sprout and grow, and then SNIP we hang it to dry and forget about it, never to be used. We snip the useful right off. We snip the potential down to the nub. We end the growth before it was ready to bolt into a thousand seeded releases.

The point of boredom with your healing is an arrival. Get to the point where you don’t want to hear it one more time. When the dopamine no longer drops, and you slide off your stool and walk away from the journal. Where you put on music to clear your mind and body.

Boredom is the great generator. It says “enough, let’s do something different” in the most healthy ways.

LIstening to you, deeply, and again,

Amy