It’s funny how that after years of trying to find a hobby that I could consistently keep myself occupied with, I’m back at writing. Needless to say, I’ve done it all: cheerleading, gymnastics, basketball, track, orchestra, piano, cooking classes and lots more, including writing.
I’ve tried my hand at lots of hobbies but I could never really stick with one. I think it may have to do with the fact that I get bored easily; that I convince myself that there’s something better out there. Something more… exciting or fulfilling, I suppose.
Being categorized as “boring” is not a title that I wish to have, let alone follow me around like some metaphorical dark cloud that you see in an advertisement for antidepressant medication. In some way, I still try to argue that I’m not a boring person.
I mean, do boring people vacation in Maui after their high school graduation?
What about volunteering in the midst of the Flint Water Crisis? That’s pretty dull, huh?
While yes, others view me as this full-fledged, multi-dimensional human being, I can’t help but negate that.
I’ve met lots of incredible people throughout my life that I am constantly jealous of, yet inspired by. I feel that I’m only jealous of these people because they have managed to find one thing and turn it into their passion. These people eat, live and breathe their passion while here I am, hardly getting by.
I blame my indecisiveness and insecurity on being a Libra, but that can only get you so far. When others speak, I listen. I am the observer. I keep my mouth closed but mind, eyes and ears open. I pick up on the most minute details: the slight tremble in one’s hands as they pick up an eating utensil, the inflection in their voice, perhaps a tilt of the head that the average listener would not bother to notice in everyday conversation.
I’m not sure why, but I pick up on a lot of minor things, such as the ad-libs in a song (which apparently not a lot of people pay attention to, surprisingly). I think that’s why I consider myself as boring. While everyone focuses on the bigger picture, here I am, putting the pieces together, no matter how much of a pain in the ass they are. To call myself a perfectionist would be completely insane, but I do suppose only perfectionists pay that much attention to anything that would normally be overlooked by anyone else.
Maybe I am boring, and I’m finally coming to terms with it. Personally, I find it more interesting to be the observer rather than the participant. I like to live vicariously through the experiences and risks of others… hardly taking any risks of my own. It’s taken me a while to come to this conclusion, I am stubborn, after all.
I’m boring, and I’m not upset about that.