Dear inner children,

I want to dissect, a bit, three of the most common phrases I used in my very early childhood.

First, “Why?”, and then “…Because why?”

I always enjoyed the six degrees of frustration and reflection this repeated question would trigger in adults. The eventual conclusion of either “Because that’s the way it is,” or “Because God,” fascinated me— how quickly the whole world could come to an end, with less than six why’s. It taught me a lot about how people think, the way minds work.

My neurodivergence yet unknown, social interaction was difficult; I found children my age alien— but adults? They behaved more predictably; they would try to have a conversation with me, answer my questions, be tickled by my ‘precocious’ behaviors. I could find patterns to please. Adults who took time with me, slowly, were my favorite people. I appreciated their insights; they were often humored by mine.

This is how I became teacher’s pet to so many, yet often sat or played alone, reading during lunch and recess. I loved the librarian, the computer teacher, safe adults who let me do my thing and supported my questions and research into whatever obsession caught my focus for the week (from feng shui to ducks, airplanes, sustainable forestry, nutrition— nitrates in well water? Many interests and wonderful deep dives).

My questions and social skills advanced in elementary and middle school; ‘why and because why’ did not work as well past my toddling years, past age 6. But it is how I got my start— the first way I found to foster conversations; to get folks to talk to me and continue talking.

I did not do it to be annoying; I did it because I did not want the interaction to end, and did not know what else I could say. I did not yet know to check my joy when it blooms from the frustrations of others. I was so small.

Second, “Do you understand?”

I find this phrase telling. I felt constantly surrounded by people who were not listening, but pretending to, or folks who heard but did not follow. I felt isolated. I would speak as a child, but the responses I got didn’t match what I thought I said.

So clinically, I began adding “do you understand?”, after any explanation, question, sentence— to clarify that the person I was trying to communicate with was actually following.

This phrase I’ve never really grown out of, but it has evolved. I realized over time that people found it aggressive; even patronizing— like I expected the person to not understand; which was true. I was more often misunderstood than understood, it was why I was asking the question, to clarify.

Now I’ll say, “does that make sense?”, when necessary. This question is less accusatory; it puts the onus on me to explain better if the answer is no. And often, if the person is honest, the answer is still no— but I have improved immensely in distilling and expressing what is in my head into language. It is so difficult when I think and store memories in pictures; an effect of my peculiar dyslexia.

Third, “I’m Bored.”

Capital B. I remember journaling it, thinking it, wallowing in it, wailing it in my room alone; I learned quickly not to utter it to my parents, who would put me to work whenever I said it aloud. Generally it was a cleaning or maintenance task, to be done alone— so difficult with ADHD and OCD, in a time before the internet; no youtube or podcasts to put on while you work… I just had to mow the lawn? a nightmare. Thoroughly clean and mop out the family business vans? in the heat? alone? impossible.

I see now, Boredom, as this necessary reminder and mother of creativity— it presses us; not to do, run or rush— but to be still, look, and listen. To find satisfaction and motivation in the present once more. Now is now.

I can see the impulse to try to satisfy boredom with productivity. You’re bored? Ridiculous, go do chores! There’s so much to do! I am guilty of that myself still; finding myself bored and listless, unmotivated to do anything, I press myself into productivity when I should be listening to that inner voice; a warning from my inner self.

When I feel bored now, I try to revel in it. Lean into it. It often means I am about to change; it is the herald of transition, my muse is on her way.

No wonder I felt it so often as a child, while constantly growing and becoming. (to be clear, I am growing and becoming still).

Now, I do not think boredom should be run from— productivity should not be squeezed, forced, when you feel bored. It is your mind reaching out, reminding you of something forgotten.

“I need beauty,” your mind tells you, “I am bored. I have forgotten to feel the moon, to watch the grasses sway, to listen to the dappled trees and their birds.”

“I am bored.” the other me cries from the dark inside, where all good things come. And I do not run or stifle her. She needs me too, and she does not understand all these screens, words, clocks. She needs time by the river, making things with clever fingers; she wants to find good rocks, good sticks, a good cloud, a shooting star.

“I am bored.” she says. Would I ignore her, if the words were, “I am hungry,” or “I am thirsty”? No— yet, boredom is a reversal of our physical need for satiation. Boredom is not an empty bucket that can be filled with more of what you are doing. You are overflowing and have yet to realize; now you must do what you have not been doing.

“I am bored.” she says. “I see no beauty because you have shut our eyes. I hear no running water or crunching leaves because you have filled our ears. Let us return to the night, to silence where we might hear the fairies with the crickets, catch a star amongst the leaves above— why have you lost our senses? Why do you starve us so?”

Summer; June, July, August, my hardest months. The heat, inescapable, I stay inside or I suffer from heat exhaustion, hives, even from just 80 degrees. I cannot temperature regulate. I walk in the early mornings or late at night— if I remember. I close us inside; do my best with my routines; get through another hellish season, eyes searching endlessly for yellow in the green.

“I am bored.” she says. “Do you understand?”

And I look up from my life, jolt awake from my desk. She’s right. I am so sorry. I have lost us again. I did not listen or understand. I am glad for the warning. It is time to remember magic and nature again, to open our senses. Thank you, I think, to myself.

find the fairies,
Aimee ♥︎

ps— I hope you chance upon a good stick or stone, I hope you actually see it, right alongside your walking path, there all along, waiting for you.

And here, if you wish; I ask myself why, again and again, to get to the bottom of a feeling:

We are bored.

…why?

We are lost.

…why?

We did not keep the path.

…why?

We forgot to look at our feet.

…why?

We were looking elsewhere.

…why?

Elsewhere is more compelling, at times, than right here.

…why?

When our senses are dulled, we seek to increase stimulation.

…why?

Increasing stimulation is easier than sharpening dull senses.

…why?

Stimulation demands nothing of you; you sit, you consume, you spiral outward.
Sharpening must be chosen each moment of its doing; you sit, you sense, you spiral inward.

…why?

Humans adapt to the ups and downs of life; luxuries quickly lose their shine. Our senses dull— we focus on how things could be better. Our eyes shift from our feet to elsewhere, once-joys are taken for granted; they remind us only of what we lack.

…why?

It is easier to focus on lack than surplus; easier to live in the future than enjoy the present.

…why?

To enjoy the present, we must sit in it with all our senses. Let the pull toward “elsewhere” fall away. Cultivate gratitude for all the tiny and glorious wonders of the world. Be glad of every twist of fate. Seek silver in the coming storms; and by looking, find. Practice or forget. Sharpen; or dull, and get used to what once you loved.

…why?

The breadth of potential human experience is boundless. We have evolved so that regardless of birth and circumstance; luxury or squalor; over time, every life will feel like a normal life, with the same depths of joy and sorrow.

…why?

So humanity might continue; so an unfortunate life and a lucky one can both be lived well, with legacy to pass on— in whatever form that might take.

…why?

Evolution. Divinity. Science. Magic. Grace. The meaning of life and death, the beginning and end of the universe. Chaos. Order. 42. Love.

…we are still bored.

Rejoice, it will not last and neither will we. I will sharpen our senses once more.
Now we can now. Autumn is coming.

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