Of all that the smartphone has given to us, it has taken away the very idea of boredom. The eighteen and fifteen year olds in my house, have never once uttered the familiar refrain of my youth, “I’m so bored.”

They don’t get bored because with their phones they are never without their friends through text or facetime. If they don’t feel like communing, any movie they could ask for is a few clicks away. If they’re in the mood for music, just about any song is available to them. They can make a playlist or just hit “radio” and enjoy an algorithm driven selection based on the genre of their choosing.

Youth without boredom, what a foreign concept to this middle-aged, white guy.

Like so many unpleasant things, boredom was a Godsend in my growing up. Because I was bored, I picked up books, talked to people I didn’t know, asked the Belgian kids next door if they wanted to play. Boredom drove me to ask questions, to interact with my siblings, to create historical dramas in my head, imagine myself as a whole series of heroic athletes I would never come close to being. Sometimes when I was bored, I’d explore deep into the local woods.

At  the age of eleven or so, boredom pushed me to ask my mom for permission to travel the one mile to the train station so I could head into Brussels and cruise around that medieval city without a cell phone or an agenda. I’d go to the movies, get my haircut, go ice skating, all by myself or with my buddy, Andrew Willis. Boredom chased me into learning to be responsible for myself.

These days, many of my friends encourage me to try Peloton “the classes are amazing.” Or go to Orange Theory because “you never get bored just running.” I smile politely and respond affirmatively without any real commitment.

I’m not afraid of being bored while exercising. Boredom is powerful.

Yesterday, my son Drew came to visit me at my gym so we could spin together. There was no class and he was a little surprised when I told him that there would be no fans to keep us cool and no music to distract us from the work. He’s pretty easy going though and got on his bike anyway.

For seventy minutes, we barely spoke. Two guys, side by side, in a big empty spin room. For a while, the only sound was the whir of the wheels. Then I started breathing hard. Five or so minutes later Drew started sucking wind. Without words, we communed through our work. Aware of the increasing effort of his intervals, I gave silent witness to the progress. Pools of sweat, the size of 33RPM records formed below our feet and hands. At one point, I looked over at his readout and saw that he was pushing 560 Watts. I think I said something then.

When it was over and we’d cleaned our bikes, I asked if he missed the music, was he bored?

“No, not at all. I liked it.”

We showered, got in the car and headed up 95 North in the rush hour traffic. Drew took out his phone to find some music and soon the Allman Brothers were playing.

I started laughing.

“What?” he asked.

“When they were young the Allman Brothers used to drive around in a van sniffing paint and writing songs.”

“Seriously?”

I guess they were bored.