Brochure

When I was a child, I would sometimes
get so bored on weekends that I wanted
to cry. ’Intelligent people are never
bored’, my mother would patiently reply
when I ran to share my heartfelt ennui
with her. If she was in the kitchen, she
would suggest helping her out with
cookie making. If she was in the living-
room, where she most often was on
dreary Saturday afternoons, working
her way through an ever evolving book-
collection, she would tap on the cushion
next to her, make me cuddle up beside
her and read aloud from one of her
literary classics. Suddenly, the acute,
almost unbearable weekend-boredom
was transformed into something else; a
peaceful moment of simply being.
That’s why I most jealously protect my
weekends, now that I have grown. I
reserve place for myself to feel bored
from time to time. I don’t refer to that
restless, rather meaningless feeling of
nothing to do. But a rather peaceful state
of indolence, where you simply decide
to unplug. Today it’s so easy to quickly
drown the tingling feeling of boredom,
whenever you feel it approaching. Pings,
tweets and thumbs up. A quick x
against the meaninglessness feeling of
being idle.
But what if time spent idle is important
for our well-being? What if it’s the
birthplace of some of the nest moments
in life?
How about waking up on a Saturday,
lazily, without that usual weekday rush.
Slowly remembering you’ve nally
reached the weekend and that, for a
short while, life is simply allowed to
oat about. Turning in the warm duvet,
sensing the linen still warm from a heavy,
peaceful sleep. Turning your cheek
towards the warm torso of the person
next to you. Want coee? Yes, in a while.
Just let us lie here for another moment.
A nod, barely perceptible, but approving.
Rays of sun ltering through the blinds,
leaving soft stripes on the walls. The
coee-brewer sputtering in the kitchen
and from the apartment below, the
sound of bright childrens’ voices, already
out of bed, already laughing, already
dreaming.
Far from laziness or boredom, proper
idleness is the soul’s refuge. Anything
is possible. Perhaps later I will go for a
walk. Perhaps I will meet with friends.
Perhaps I will go buy a fresh loaf of
bread and eat it, still warm, with cold,
salty butter. Indulging in life. This is
what I call being comfortably bored.
When everything gets quiet inside, I’m
nally able to listen to the sound of life.
Boredom should be both preserved and
cherished. ‘Cause to me, it sounds a lot
like happiness.
HOW TO BE COMFORTABLY BORED