Reclaim connection: Embrace forced boredom in a ride line this summer

Summer is here. And so is waiting in long lines for hours for something.

Somehow elevated heat and more free time beckon us to amusement parks, those wonderful places that make so many of our memories and take so much of our money.

It’s strange we continue to seek out these experiences, especially given the short amount of time we experience anything while we’re there. Most rides, while fun, last no longer than two minutes. Most lines to those rides take up to an hour to wait in. 

So in a morning, you may enjoy six minutes of rides and three hours of lines. You may moan and whimper for 60 minutes to giggle and gasp for 60 seconds. You may mindlessly crawl through a crowded queue, creeping close to complete strangers, listening to their stories, jump on the ride quickly, and do it all over again. 

Why do we put ourselves through this? Or better yet, how can we maximize the time?

Yes, ride queue lines are maddening.

Committing to a ride line is an important decision. You've resolved this is how you'll spend the next hour of your life. Now you have to figure out what to do.

At least some ride queues have features to keep us mildly distracted. Like that poster you read two sentences of before the kids yank on your leg. Or a talking animatronic gargoyle warning you about the perils of the ride. Even that loses its allure after you've heard the speech three times and find yourself reciting it to your embarrassed family.

The truth is we're confined to a small space with no way backward or forward. What can we do with the time?

How do you fill the space of ride queue boredom?

It's good to observe our disposition in a ride queue. I tend to daydream, hopeful I’ll get lost in my rambling thoughts, like if birds were once dragons or if our microwaves are the true silent killers. If I'm lucky, the moment I come out of my trance is when I find myself about to hop on a roller coaster.

How about you? Do you ponder the things you’re worried about? Like if your swampy-amusement-park socks are conjuring an epic blister. Or if you forgot to cancel your Disney Plus subscription before the free trial deadline. Ah, shivers. Are you thinking about the rest of the day, the other rides you’re going to hit, or whether that ride that dumps water buckets on you is worth having soaked underwear the rest of the day?

Maybe you spend the time observing others. It's all too easy to stand there judging others' actions and words, like wondering why they brought their baby in the line, why they went for the Tasmanian Devil tattoo, or how their conspiracy theory of making Pluto a dwarf planet was ill-founded and heightist? It’s OK, this is a judgment-free zone.

Aside from all that, we have our phones. They're the most effective boredom busters ever invented. There's no limit to finding interesting things to pass the time. They may even be helpful to connect with others who aren't there.

Oh yeah, my people are here. Connection is possible.

Amidst all the possible time fillers, an alternative is to realize we’re with the most precious people in the world to us. (Unless you went to the park with your enemy, which is noble and Christ-like, but most likely a waste of good summer money.) The reality is that what we're waiting for isn't a reality. It's the future, and in the present moment, it's irrelevant.

What if we acknowledged that the present moment with these precious people is all we had? If we did, we might find the best use of the time is to figure out how to connect with them.

Every moment in someone else's presence is an opportunity for one of life's greatest gifts—connection. I often forget this, even telling myself in the moment my silence or uninterest is socially normal and expected. Yet, that's part of the problem.

While wired for social connection, I've somehow stripped the wire that tells me it's good, even necessary. Perhaps I feel like I don't need it, that I'm doing just fine in my day. But what about the other? They could be just fine. Or they could desperately need another human to acknowledge them or smile at them. Open spaces are opportunities.

Forced boredom and how to embrace it

Forced boredom has become a rarity in our culture because now we have instruments that replace live social interaction, and even thought itself. It seems incumbent upon our generation to recapture what we're losing—meaningful interaction in the presence of another person. How do we do this?

That's the wonderful mystery and challenge of engagement. We're imperfect people, flawed with self-focus, distractions, anxieties, and negative emotions that stifle connection. Yet when we break through and intentionally see the other person, and wonder what question or thought may break through their own disconnecting flaws, we are engaging in nothing less than an act of love. Somehow, the other person gets a beautiful benefit from our intentional engagement.

When that goes back and forth for an hour in a line, the mutual goodness of your connection is obtained. You've unlocked mysteries of the other in your feeble attempts to love. You've redeemed forced boredom, or perhaps, even discovered its purpose.

So, when's your next forced boredom opportunity? Whatever it is, make it something worth waiting for.