Raspberry Iced M

I am going to say something now that I wished someone had told me a long time ago: Peace looks a lot like boredom when chaos is the norm.

Granted, someone did tell me that once. I didn’t believe her anymore than I expect you to believe me now.

When we’re young and impressionable and long for spontaneity and excitement, the indirect consequence is usually drama.

Or at least that’s my perception.

I was never the type to want to jump out of airplanes or drag race or barhop. My definition of excitement was more like…getting butterflies. Arguing until someone conceded defeat. Spending money I didn’t have because stuff equaled satisfaction. Risking a sure thing on a hope and prayer that something – or someone – might prove to be better…

…and…enter drama.

So if you had asked me a few years ago what kind of life I wanted, I probably would have given you a list to include, in no particular order, the following: A passionate relationship. A nice house. A nice car. A successful career. Lots of friends. The ability to go where I want, when I want, and with whom.

And in that dream, my nails would be freshly manicured and I’d weigh about 50 pounds less. My preferred wardrobe would contain more pencil skirts. Some Saturdays would consist of day-drinking with girlfriends, shopping, and massages, while others would be reserved for hopping in a car with the love of my life to attend various concerts and comedy shows, trying all the new food and seeing the sites.

And the point was not to have a point. No agenda. No responsibilities. No routine. Just my people and me…and stuff…can’t forget the stuff.

But my life doesn’t look like that. And it’s not going to look like that.

My life is not bad. It is ordinary.

Most days look remarkably similar.

I wake up, get dressed, log in for work and shuffle emails around. I eat dinner, I fold laundry, I compare notes with my husband and son about our respective circumstances, moods, and schedules. And I turn on the t.v. for background noise while I write. And then I go to bed, read, and drift off to sleep with two tiny dogs, only to wake up the next day and do it all over again.

So if a fortune teller had said to me ten years ago that this is what my life would look like, I’d have called said life boring.

And it is.

But it is also beautiful.

See – boring doesn’t keep me up at night. The things that once made me feel alive I can now classify, respectfully, as unpredictable and chaotic. Chasing attention and connection and sometimes closure…and calling it excitement. That’s not fun. And it’s not realistic. Today, I sleep. Peacefully. And there is something glorious about laying your head on a pillow without needing to brace myself for what comes tomorrow.

Boring lets me trust myself. The old version of me invited chaos in destructive ways, and the consequence of that is that I also had to chase relief. Relief from loneliness, uncertainty, discomfort. And what I know now that I didn’t know then is that relief and peace are not the same thing. My days now are less exciting. But they are more aligned. And there is a quiet confidence that comes from consistently making decisions I can respect.

To live a boring life is to live predictably. And I used to think that was dull. But now I think predictability is underrated. The bills get paid. The dishes get washed. The kid gets to school. The Bible gets read. The dogs get snuggles. Routines continue, and the world doesn’t fall apart. There is comfort in knowing what comes next, especially when I’ve spent years emotionally preparing for disasters that inevitably arrived because I was too busy creating discord that I mistook for quirky whims.

And that discord consumed my attention. But boredom leaves room for growth. Drama demands energy. Survival mode leaves little room for reflection. But monotony creates space. Space to think and pray and notice patterns and become more intentional. Some of the deepest growth of the my life has happened during seasons that would look completely unremarkable from the outside.

What I understand now that I didn’t grasp before is that being unremarkable does not mean something is not special. Boredom doesn’t require performance. I don’t have to constantly reinvent myself. I don’t have to gamble on things that “might” be exciting. I don’t have to create intensity just to feel something. I can just be. And that is surprisingly healing.

And in that healing, I have found safety. For years, my nervous system associated intensity with importance. Dramatic equaled importance. Uncertainty equaled vivacity. Safety isn’t boring. Safety is a gift. Steadiness is a gift. Consistency is a gift.

And I give myself those gifts every time I relinquish impulse for routine. Boredom is where character is built. Most growth does not happen during extraordinary moments. It happens on random Tuesdays when nobody is watching. It happens when I choose patience again. It happened last night when I finished the Book of Daniel, thanking the Lord that He understands, even when I don’t. It happened earlier this week when I chose to fold laundry instead of going to bed earlier, because that’s what I’d promised myself I would do.

None of those things are impressive. My life isn’t incredibly exciting. It’s actually really uneventful, and most days look the same.

But it’s peaceful. I have made so many mistakes in the last 38 years. And I’ll be paying for those for a long time it seems. But peace is the one thing for which I don’t have to apologize.

It’s hard to explain the beauty in boredom to people who still associate excitement with fulfillment. I don’t judge those people, because I used to do it, too.

But I’ve learned that not every season needs fireworks. Sometimes the most beautiful life is one that allows us to rest. Breathe. Heal. Tell the truth. Become steady.

And while boring may not make for the most exciting story, it has become the setting where some of the best parts of my life are finally growing.