When it comes to things like hurricanes, boredom can be seen as a blessing.  First, my little home in Georgia lost power, and my wife and I resigned ourselves to board games by candlelight.  Then, as she went to sleep early (as pregnant ladies often do), I found myself alone in the dark, left to my own devices, both figuratively and literally.

Then the worst happened… the cell towers in my area went down too, rendering my trusty iPhone practically useless. No more Twitter, no more Facebook, no wife to carry on conversation… just me and a long night of watching the trees surrounding my house bend and crack under the pressure of the gusting wind I could hear clearly even through the walls of my silent home.  Eventually, the darkness became so absolute that I couldn’t even see the trees anymore, and I was left to try to triangulate the locations of the loudly cracking branches by sound alone.

This is the part of tough situations people usually don’t write about.  When telling stories about deployments, people want to hear about rounds flying down range, explosions, air support… so people often gloss over the long stretches of boredom that come between those dramatic events.  Boredom, as we’ve already discussed, is indeed a blessing – it means there’s no looming peril to avoid… but despite its inherent safety, boredom comes with a price.

I am a relentlessly busy guy.  I’m constantly writing, researching, planning another project.  My work hours and the hours I’m conscious usually run in parallel, barring a few hours each evening after my wife gets home.  Part of that is just the nature of this line of work – if there isn’t writing to do for SOFREP, there’s social media stuff to manage, and an ever growing pile of personal projects to work on, but as I sat on my couch alone in the silence, I came to realize my hectic schedule is as much for my mental and emotional benefit as it is a product of my career.  I’m just not any good at sitting on my hands.