Boredom can be a natural reaction to banality of our culture

Q: I like your quote: "I will not allow myself to be bored. Boredom is a sin." My problem is that I am quite a sinner, bored all the time. As I get older, the things that used to thrill me no longer do. Any suggestions? What do you do to prevent boredom? -- J.R., Las Vegas

A: It's actually part of a song lyric I wrote:

"I think boredom is a sin/ It's stupid/ Like a man who starves to death/ Near the food/ When I'm there I can be sure/ I've missed some chance to feel real good."

You're bored? You say as you get older, things that once thrilled you no longer do? There are several angles from which to examine the phenomenon of boredom:

In some cases, boredom might be a good thing, a sign that we're growing up. A welcome friend. A harbinger of the need for growth, movement, change. The voice that says, "Hey, you learned this lesson, had this experience, outgrew this need -- go do something else."

For example, I've subscribed to Sports Illustrated since 1970. And through my teens and 20s, I waited eagerly for the annual winter swimsuit issue because I thought it was, well, so not-boring. Somewhere in the "coming of age" section of my frontal lobe is seared a photo of Cheryl Tiegs in a fishnet one-piece. 'Bout fell over backwards off my college dorm room bed. Considered asking her to marry me. If I ever meet Cheryl at a cocktail party, the proposal might still come rushing out of my mouth of its own accord.

But sometime in my late 30s, I remember glancing at the current swimsuit issue sitting for days in my mail pile and thinking, "Oh yeah, gotta sit down and look through that." And then I thought, "Wow, that sorta sounded the same as 'gotta remember to pick up my dry cleaning.' " Oh my. I was bored -- bored with airbrushed photos of emaciated women shaped like praying mantises almost wearing swimsuits. Swimsuits that, were they ever to get wet, would probably dissolve.

I think real women are eminently more interesting -- and, frankly, sexier -- than icons spoon-fed to me by a culture that thinks I'm not very bright.

Sometimes boredom is the appropriate response to clear and sensible cultural observations. Let me put that more simply: Much of American pop culture is dull on its face!

George Carlin once did an entire routine based on the observation that, in the United States, there are factories that produce fake, plastic vomit, complete with a card stapled to it with suggestions for where and how to use it.

Ever sit home with a three- to five-day flu? Or with an extended convalescence? Ever decide that you'll pass the time watching daytime television? Here's a bit of friendly encouragement to make peace with your Maker: In hell, we'll each be given a remote control for a television that has 666 channels of daytime programming.

We think Anna Nicole Smith led an interesting life. 'Nuff said?

But more often, boredom is a symptom of intra-psychic malaise -- an emptiness or agony or fear inside of us managed by layer upon layer of defenses. And the menu of defenses is endless. You can be depressed, develop anxiety disorders and/or compulsions, become socially paranoid, eat ice cream and Cheetos, stay up 'til 2 a.m. chasing porn Web sites, replace real human contact with hours and hours of cyber-chatting with unmet cyber-friends, or perhaps decide that those folks who raised the prices of your season tickets 11 percent are worthy of your protracted brooding and consternation.

When life no longer feels vital around us, it's a good bet that we first lost our grip on vitality within us. We've lost us. The journey to overthrow boredom is a journey within. A journey to reclaim our vital center.

One thing though, good man. Be thankful for the unpleasantness of your boredom. For my money, your ability to notice being bored puts you way ahead of the game.

Many, many Americans do not yet know they are bored.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@ reviewjournal.com.