This morning, I started to write a radically different article. After a painful U.S. election, I wanted to issue a call to action and a plea for hope in the face of what seemed like utter hopelessness. The first paragraph quoted Emma Lazarus and the second lamented Arizona’s passage of Proposition 314. Frustration poured onto the page. Then I got an email. My friend died this afternoon.
“Welcome to Milwaukee, The Bloody Mary Capital of the World” greets me like a familiar hug each time I arrive at General Mitchell Airport in Milwaukee. Green Bay Packers paraphernalia, Cheeseheads, and Drink Wisconsinbly shirts adorn the vendor stations lining the central walkway to baggage claim.
Your phone—that little device that, for many people, is the one thing we bring with us wherever we go. You might even be using it right now to read this. Supposedly, it connects us to the world. Yet somehow, it still manages to disconnect us from each other.
When the cards fly and the game rapidly unfolds, nothing else really matters. Your brain is so absorbed with numbers and colors that you can’t possibly think about anything else.
While it may be entertaining to watch content and multitask, our phone makes us increasingly comfortable with splitting our attention. From walking to eating to brushing our teeth, our phones have wormed their way into every small activity to the point where we cannot be fully present throughout an entire day.
The necessity of music as an emotional outlet is indisputable in my opinion, but it typically serves as background noise to the ever-moving world around us. Concerts provide a brief interlude from the onslaught of life’s stressors, allowing us to live life in a pure state of awe and uninterrupted emotion.
I’ve always been well acquainted with boredom. When I was younger, my boredom fueled my imagination as I turned my uncle’s feather duster into a ballerina or rooted for raindrops racing across the windshield. But as I grew older, boredom became something much more meaningful: a tool for me to find a sense of home.
