Boredom is a waste of time. I wasn't fully aware of this fact until a former advisor of mine pointed out the obvious. In a conversation just after I graduated from college, it took just a few minutes to radically alter my perceptions about what is my own -- my time.

When I graduated I flipped my wig. I had no concept of what I should be doing, and no idea what I would even want to do. Part of the problem was that I hadn't given my post-undergraduate life much thought. I hadn't had the time to worry about it while school was still happening. I was cranked in high gear for months straight, crashing abruptly into the brick wall that was supposed to liberate me: the day grades were due. I'd created a great answer to the questions of: "what are you going to do when you graduate?" I haughtily replied: "I want to sit in a hammock and read everything I haven't had time to because school was in the way. And I intend to do so for a very long time." But when the time came, I was nearly paralyzed.

The week after finishing my work I was spun. This plan of laziness and relaxation was clearly not in the cards. I was brimming with aimless energy, but without any real responsibilities, and despite the fact I was working three jobs, nothing felt satisfying and I longed to be productive. I was so used to having too much to do that I felt like I was forgetting something. I almost wanted to have things hanging over my head. I drank heavily. I stayed up too late. I went to too many rock shows. I was at a loss and became dangerously anxious as a result. This was not a metaphysically healthy place. I tried to motivate myself to read, like I so longed to, but it was useless.

This was the condition I found myself in when I ran into my old advisor, standing outside of Borders. Stu has the answer for everything, I thought. Surely, he'll understand. I explained my reading predicament and then launched into the overhanging and boundless sense of existential dread stuff and my anxiety about radical freedom. "How am I supposed to fill my days?" I demanded of his infinite wisdom. He laughed and said: "You have to choose. Every day it's either projects or adventures. Being bored is not an option. It's a waste of time." This is the choice he gives his grandchildren when they visit him- they pick which one they want and then they all set off on one or the other. True, sometimes they overlap, but this is the choice we have when we awaken in the morning: will it be a project day or an adventure day?

Stu has the answer for almost everything, and has always given sage advice. But this was brilliant. I was free, constrained only by my desires for creativity or exploration. It sank into my skull more as time passed; I am the master of my days. I would wake up at 6 in the morning, check the time, and instead of rolling over, I'd decide to drive to Ohio. Or I'd make curtains. I could do anything. All of my frustration at feeling pointless could be transferred back toward productivity making my exploits an end in themselves. I was becoming self-sufficient. It's gotten to the point that I don't even think about it anymore.

I've been unemployed for months. But I would rather dig myself into debt than do something mind-numbing. It bothers me because I want to work. I like to work. But, I'm most certainly not bored. I'm busiest unemployed girl I know. I'm better off knitting or sewing or writing or baking. Even when I was working, it was so important to direct my evening and weekend time to the project or adventure plan. It gave me the sense that I could feel satisfied with my situation, even if I was being drained by my days of dead-end labor. I was determined to let my neither my heart nor my mind atrophy or grow moss.

Boredom is pointless. Choose otherwise. What'll it be, then: projects, adventures or both. As Stu says, "that's my advice -- Take it or leave it."