Boredom Breeds Creativity

The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.-Ellen Parr, graphic designer

Things haven’t worked out as planned.  This was a three day weekend that we had planned for my friends to come over and have a vision board party.  We set the date on the calendar for weeks, I cleaned the house, ordered a pull out couch to be delivered on time, made gluten free brownies, and bought the right kind of alternative milk and gluten free bread for our weekend breakfasts.   Yet things didn’t work out, as a friend’s boyfriend got Covid and she then proceeded to get sick. As precaution, she didn’t come and due to rain warnings with potential mudslide warnings the other friends didn’t come as well.  This is post pandemic life.   I admit, initially I was highly frustrated.  Now that I have a fully time job, these holiday weekends are sparse, and I planned each with intention and purpose.  But things don’t always go as we plan. Automatically, I had the urge to come up with backup plans, which included trying to  attend a sound healing in Santa Barbara that would be held in a salt cave.  I called the healing center, but it was sold out.  I could go on a whale watching tour alone, but was weary with the high waves and potential storm brewing. 

I was fearing frustration and boredom.  I wanted to feel I did something for the weekend, that it meant something and it was worthy of a day off.   I was doomed to spend several days at home, with no friends, no dates, no plans.  And therefore, I was bored. 

Yes, I know this sounds totally dramatic.

I recognized in that moment I had options on what to do or how to think.  I could get angry and ruminate on the idea that I can never count on others for plans and view all Californians as flakes, including my friends.  I could go to LA and find something to do, dependent on my brother’s plans. I could binge on Netflix shows.  Take extended naps.  Shop (although I was not buying any clothing or shoes this year).  Explore nature.  Engage in creative activities. 

And in the multitude of thoughts arising, I could reframe it all and view this as a gift.  I had my weekends planned out for the next several weeks, including a pending trip to Seattle next weekend.  This cancellation of plans doesn’t have to equate with stress and frustration.   It could be a blessing, an opportunity for time affluence and abundance.

So my weekend consisted of a variety of these things.  Preparing my tax documents for my accountant, catching up with friends on the phone, making new ethnic dishes, taking walks on the beach, preparing for my bellydance classes that I will be teaching soon, reading, watching a Netflix movie in entirety in one sitting (generally this takes several days or one week for me to complete a film), and a little blogging. In addition, I was able to do some crafts with material I gathered from the beach.

In the past I wanted my weekends to be “fun” and worthy of catch up stories to my friends and co-workers.  But there is value in life being enriched with doing nothing.  With crating crafts or simply engaging in your favorite hobbies, or even resting.  There is no prize for who has the most unique plans or most busy weekend.  There’s joy in simple satisfaction and contentment, even if it involves simply going to the local beach with my 15 year old dog to walk barefoot in the sand and watch the waves and the local surfers. 

As John Lennon  once said, “life is what happens when you are busy making plans.”

C’est la vie, this is life.

Curry

Earlier today I was in a checkout line at a Filipino grocery store.  My purchases were small but intentional: a ten pound bag of Thai Jasmine rice, Chinese Mabo Tofu mix,Vietnamese  Pho noodles, pad Thai sauce, Japanese udon noodles, some local vegetables, and a packet of Korean curry. The young cashier who was checking me out on the register said to me, “I have one question, what is curry?” 

I looked at her in amazement, I assumed everyone who worked at the store was Filipino or some type of Asian, but she appeared to be Mexican American.  I proceeded to summarize curry as a type of stew “It’s a stew that adds flavor to your veggies and meats.”  I was so astonished that someone didn’t know what a curry was, and I was wondering if I was offering a poor answer to this question.  “This is a Korean curry, but there are Japanese curries, Thai curries, Indian curries, so many kinds.”  She was open to admitting her lack of knowledge on the subject.  “I want to start experimenting and try cooking new dishes.  I tried the Filipino curry, and so I was wondering about this curry.”  I was curious what dish she was talking about, as Filipinos technically don’t have curries, or maybe I didn’t view it in that way. Was it adobo, kare kare, or caldereta? I didn’t want to keep up the line, but offered her a “thank you and good luck with your curries.” 

I wondered if my definition excited or deterred her from curry.  There was so much more to say about it, but I was caught off guard. And yet in that moment, I appreciated this stranger’s sincere honesty and willingness to seek more knowledge.  I also was in awe of the fact that we were in California in an area full of diversity, in which we can learn, understand, and appreciate things from each culture.  My $33 spent on groceries was an abundance of Asian wealth from a variety of countries.  We take that for granted these days, but in the moment I was appreciative of the global education we all can offer each other while in line at an ethnic grocery store.

Hidden Acts of Kindness

I am lounging in Caje Café in Santa Barbara, a Spanish style coffee shop that sits across the Alrington Theater.  It’s happenstance that I’m here during the Santa Barbara Film Festival in front of a premiere.  People are lined up to see the stars walk down the red carpet before entering the theater. 

The café drew me in not because of it’s proximity to this event but because of the beauty of the courtyard.  After leaving Andalucia in December, I was missing the outdoor beauty of Spanish life, and longed to be close to a beautiful fountain and greenery.  There were young college students at the café, in addition to yuppies, dog owners, and fellow book lovers who sprawled out in the sun and read their next chapter.  There was also a man who appeared to be struggling with mental health issues, potentially homeless, walking up to various customers muttering to himself, before he was kicked out. 

I sat in the outdoor café and wrote, once in awhile peaking on what was going on around me.  The music was quiet and chill, it was a simple Sunday afternoon.  But then I heard loud screams coming from the street. Me along with many of the customers stepped out of the café’s white entrance to sneak a peak.  The main star arrived.  Billie Eilish’s van pulled up and she was about to enter the festival. The screams were loud, fans stood on their tip toes to see above the crowd to get a view above other fans who were holding up her most recent record.  She briefly stopped to shake fans’ hands and was interviewed by the press before heading into the theater.

 I went back into the café, whose background music was promptly changed from soft mellow tunes to a loud Billie Eilish song.  As I walked in, so did the man with mental health issues.  He was running behind the screaming crowd and proceeded to run back into the café, making fellow patrons squeamish.  A woman came up to him, and asked what was wrong.  I wasn’t close enough to hear the words he was muttering on repeat.  He was distraught and upset.  She held his hand and slowed down her breathing. Gentle loud exhales to decrease his nervous system, as she did this she repeated to him “you are safe.”  She continued to check what he needed at that moment, and offered to get him water as he sat down.  The fellow staff member who kicked him out minutes earlier, came by to check. 

This female courageous customer was handling the situation.  She was calming this stranger down, when everyone else backed away.  He was shaken by the loud screams for Billie Eilish and was unaware of what was going on. 

As I watch this all unfold, I thought of the irony of the situation.  This woman was the real rock star here.  Yes, artists and musicians help express our emotions and get us through difficult times in our lives through their creative works.  Everyone surrounded the theater to welcome her entrance to the event.  But at a café across the street, a woman was in the everyday trenches, offering a moment of tangible calm support to a stranger that was viewed by others as untouchable. She was not paid for this act, and nobody else said anything to her for this to be recognized as profound and strong. 

I offered her one of these Puzo Bella cards (which you may have received, which is why you may be reading this blog).  I wanted to tell her I noticed her and wanted to thank her for helping a stranger.  For some reason as I did this, I wanted to cry.  In that moment, she had this superhero strength of compassion of a saint.  And I wanted her to know it was seen and appreciated.  There’s so much to be seen and admired in this world, and it’s not only things that are of material wealth.  It’s these everyday moments that are full of rich individuals, simply helping a stranger.

Observations

I watch my brother carefully measure out the espresso beans, the ratio and weight to what is needed for each latte he serves himself, his girlfriend and me.  The attention to detail with how he foams the alternative milks for each of our drinks.

I see his girlfriend delicately pouring hot soy wax into rose fondant shapes for the bespoke candles she is gifting a small group of loved ones.  Colors chosen linked to their astrological signs. 

I watch my friend online who is tired, after seeing 25 patients this week for therapy, lend a supportive ear, as I share my latest dilemma giving the week’s play by play.

My fifteen year old dog places her paw on me, displaying her affection, and falls asleep with her paw on my lap.

I saw a female empowerment poster with strong historical women in a friend’s home. He shares  how he teaches his young boys about these women’s accomplishments and vacillates these mini bios between talks on mindfulness, encouraging them to be feminists in their upbringing.

I observe the care exhibited in each of these moments.  All are offerings of love.  In each instance, no act was done with an expectation of anything in return.  Nobody was doing these things for a financial transaction or a hope to be discovered.   It was simply an expression of love or sharing of a skill. Non-attachment.

It makes me wonder, where have I gone wrong?  Have I kept tabs in how I display love? After years of giving, and running on empty, I needed time to replenish the drought of self-inflicted martyrdom.  Perhaps you can relate.  But in observing others give freely, it makes me wonder has that pause ended? After taking a break from the working world and being a solo nomad am I ready to give again, without expectation, and solely a pure heart? Time will tell.