Boredom is needed for creativity. Quiet times of nothingness are where imagination sparks and ideas are born.
There are a lot of things I want to be for my child:
I want to be someone who challenges him to push himself, to not give into his fears, and to always strive for his best.
I want to be the person hugging him, or sitting quietly by his side, when his best falls short.
I want to be a scientist, always observing him so that I can know him better and know what he needs.
I want to be an architect, shaping his environment so that it offers him a place to thrive and grow.
I want to be a librarian, reading to him for hours on end and planting the seed for a love of books.
I want to be his travel agent, planning adventures near and far to open his eyes to the world.
I want to be an explorer, discovering whatever worlds his yet to be determined interests lead us to, so we have common ground.
I want to be his chef, cooking him healthy meals and baking cookies with him on a Sunday afternoon.
Above all, I want to be a loving, safe place for him where he always feels welcome and knows he can be himself.
However, there is one thing I do not want to be:
I do not want to be an entertainer, making sure he’s always occupied, never bored, constantly engaged in something fun or “educational.”
Boredom is needed for creativity.
Quiet times of nothingness are where imagination sparks and ideas are born.
The ability to entertain yourself is a life skill, one that is falling away now that we have constant entertainment in our pockets.
So while I do play with him (after all I’m his only available playmate most of the time) I don’t interact with him 100% of the time he’s awake. I look for those moments when he’s inside his own head and I sit quietly while he entertains himself
I watch as the time he can do this stretches and I hope it serves him well as he grows.
I watch as he discovers shadows on the floor and tries to capture them.
I watch as he stares at his reflection in the mirror and watches himself move.
I watch as he stares out the window at the beautiful world, captivated by the leaves dancing in the wind.
I watch as he starts to get frustrated or want attention, and then I watch a little bit longer, until it’s a little uncomfortable, walking that line so that he knows—he doesn’t need me to entertain him.