Does it? I just read many quotes on boredom. The general consensus is that boredom is a character fault. You are bored because you are boring. You are bored because you have too many resources but no imagination. It is downright decadent to consider being bored in fact. I can hear my mother saying “Bored? I’ll give you something to do,” and I run out of the house and into the boring neighbourhood.
Well this week’s dispatch is from the island of boredom I just visited. I was in exquisite boredom for most of the time I was in Cuba. In Buddhism we sometimes talk about hot boredom (very bad) or cool boredom (an excellent place to be). I was in itchy hot adolescent boredom. Why? Because the beautiful sweet and kind resort we went to was under a bad spell. It was windy every day but one. That meant the water churned and was full of both garbage and natural dirt. And it meant the very evil Portuguese man o’war had the means to fly like blue plastic bottles across the top of the surf, trailing their diaphanous poisonous skirts behind them. The upshot of this was that I went swimming about four times in thirteen days and only snorkeled out to the coral reef once.
But, everyone asks, surely it was pleasant to lay about and read? I’m a very avid reader and usually plow through upwards of a hundred books a year. I read fifteen books while I was in Cuba. So more than usual but I already lay about and read all the time at home. And I can make myself a cup of coffee while I do it and eat outside of proscribed times without standing in line. My gawd I sound like such a privileged princess! I am, I’ll admit it. I guess the thing is that I don’t need vacations anymore. I hardly work and when I do it is something I really like. I write and paint and garden and cook and meet up with pals and loll about in my baby’s arms most days.
I don’t like that I was bored in Cuba but I’m writing a true dispatch, not a curated piece that will convince you I live a charmed life. I’m not angry about the trip. It is no one’s fault that it was too windy to enjoy the water. And I’m generally one of the most unbored people that you might meet. Having been to Jibacoa four times now I knew that after about ten days I would likely be tired of paradise but I didn’t think I’d be ready to go home at day four. But I had hope didn’t I? The wind might drop and I could swim among a cloud of brilliant blue fishes like I did that one time. But no. I’d wake up before dawn and wander down to the lobby to have a coffee and watch the sun come up (which is pretty much the best part of each day I was there) and I’d see that stupid red flag up on the beach.
Here is the glorious cemetery in Matanzas where we went on a day trip.
I took things to stave off boredom too. Besides a lot of books. I took sketchbooks and watercolours and a journal to write in and a couple of tarot decks to fool about with BUT nothing would satisfy my desire for what I couldn’t have. I wanted to be in the water being healed of grief and aches and pains but instead I was cast into an old role as a spoiled petulant teenager, who would not partake of the joy available because of wanting the joy held away from her.
Was there any good come from this? Yes, I met some lovely folk there – workers and guests. I formulated a plan to write a piece on a woman who runs a mission for Cubans that I’m jonesed about, and I certainly remembered that I truly appreciate my life as it is. I love our little house, my fine neighbours, our garden, my friends and family here in Canada. I feel so fortunate to have the freedom I have and the ability to be safe and well-fed that so many don’t have. If I go again I’ll hook my wagon to the star of my friend’s mission so that I’ll have plenty to do helping each day and just a bit of time around the edges to loll about in paradise.
Exquisite dispatch!