To Be Boring

It’s hard to tell what’s straight when everything leans to the south. Steady breezes off Fundy tilt in time with growth, scraggly evergreens bent to the will of wind. Evenings like these are reminders of why I wander randomly. Haven’t got the patience to sit around for a sunset, especially when dark winter clouds just might not allow one. But a few random events slowed me down just enough to end up here with a break and moment of brightness.

Earlier down the Valley, I stopped off at Canadian Tire to get new mats for my car. On my way out, someone from my childhood recognized me in the parking lot. I think it’s been about a decade since that happened, as most have long since forgotten I existed. He was a passing acquaintance from Army Cadets about twenty-five years ago. It was a good conversation, revisiting a few bits and pieces from our shared past. I don’t usually do this, but I was curious enough to look him up later online. Perhaps a mistake, as I was greeted with a wall of angry political posts from the past six months, nothing personal or original among them.

I guess we never really see ourselves getting dull, as age finds us frustrated or exhausted, focusing on problems we’re powerless to change — but still willing to complain about. At thirty-eight, I’m the age when many of my peers have given up on themselves, drowning individual joys under big issues. They have trouble seeing the mirror as important enough to reflect on. Their stories are all in the past, before their excitement and passion faded. But I believe it’s okay to be boring. You can raise the family, pay the bills, do the job, and sleep. If you’ve got nothing heartfelt to say, it’s fine to stop speaking.

January 13, 2026
Morden, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6638 of my daily journal.