White space: the unprinted area of a piece of printing, as of a poster or newspaper page, or of a portion of a piece of printing, as of an advertisement; blank or empty space

We are a society sorely short on white space. Our spaces are burgeoning with print, noise, activity, stimulation and stuff of every size, shape, and color. We are full to the gills, bloated beyond description. If, by some miracle, we are afforded an unscheduled half hour, we fill it, congratulating ourselves on time-management wizardry. And if we discover stuffless space in our homes or workplaces, we either haul in more stuff or distribute the stuff we already have to fill it. Even–or perhaps especially–in its human form, nature abhors a vacuum.

German typographer and book designer Jan Tschichold writes:

White space is to be regarded as an active element, not a passive background.  

In design, as in life, there is much to be said about white space as an active element. Used actively and intentionally, white space can be an entry space for the viewer, claims German artist Norbert Bisky, a space where you can get into it [the piece of art]. Could it be that we choose to see the white spaces of our lives as passive so that we might justify our fevered attempts to avoid entry into self-reflection? Could it be that we simply don’t want to get into our lives any more than we can explore in a 33 character-tweet?

I admit that I have looked into white space–as a writer and a human–and cowered in its face. At best, it proffered possibilities, at worst, nullity ad infinitum. At times, it rolled in like heavy fog. Wave upon wave of vapor so dense, so consuming that I could see nothing but the specter of my own heart, hear nothing but the rambling of my own mind. Mine was a Gothic tale that not even Stephen King could pen. Scary stuff, indeed.

Scary–but necessary. Without it, there is a very real chance that we will become (collectively and permanently) a people who do but cannot be. Ask any parent or teacher to recall the number of times they’ve heard their children or students claim that they are bored, and you will hear a shot of disdain heard round the world. Boredom is the battle cry of those who loathe (and fear) white space. I’m bored. This is boring. What else can I do? Is this all there is? Today more than ever, parents and teachers must meet this barrage of boredom with miraculous, on-demand remedies. They must sweep in like cruise directors of ships that have gone tragically aground. They must whip out their bags of tricks and sort through their contents in search of something newer and better. Their reputations as good parents and successful teachers depend upon it.

In her article, “Let Children Get Bored Again” (The New York Times, Feb. 2, 2019). Pamela Paul writes:

. . . boredom is something to experience rather than hastily swipe away. And not as some kind of cruel Victorian conditioning, recommended because it’s awful and toughens you up. Despite the lesson most adults learned growing up — boredom is for boring people — boredom is useful. It’s good for you.

What? Boredom is for boring people? Boredom is useful, good for you? So claims Paul who goes on to argue that until a few decades ago, we believed that a certain amount of boredom was actually necessary and appropriate. In her article she cites composer and actor Lin-Manuel Miranda (in an interview with GQ magazine) who attributed his unscheduled afternoons with fostering inspiration because there is nothing better to spur creativity than a blank page or an empty bedroom. I contend that the world is a much better place because Miranda’s blank pages and empty bedrooms spurred the likes of Hamilton.

Paul admits that it’s not really boredom itself that’s important but what we do with it. She explains:

The idea isn’t that you suffer through crushing tedium. . . [but] that you learn how to vanquish it. This may come in several forms: You might turn inward and use the time to think. You might reach for a book. You might imagine your way to a better job. Boredom leads to flights of fancy. But ultimately, to self-discipline. To resourcefulness.

Boredom, like white space, begs for vanquishing. But we have stopped expecting and teaching our children (and adults) to be vanquishers. Before I retired, my students were hard-pressed to listen to a lecture of any length. Boring, they said. Listening to teachers drone on and on is SOOO boring. Reading for more than 5 minutes? REALLY boring! Homework? Absolute drudgery! And rather than train them to listen longer, read and work more intently, too often I confess that I moved all too naturally into entertainment. I used to joke that I’d become the David Letterman of the secondary English classroom. I could recite Top Ten lists created for my students’ educational pleasure (Educational? Who was I kidding?) I could tell stories to lead into and out of classic pieces of literature, glittering tales intended to make our work more relevant. I could show a video–a really fine adaption of a literary work–to make the difficult more palatable. My bag of tricks was deep. And oh, so shallow.

Blessedly, I fought the good fight more times than not. Still, I cringe when I recall the times I caved and worked the crowd like a starving stand-up comedian. I regret that I didn’t roll out some white space and simply shut up. I am saddened that more of my students didn’t enter this space actively and expectantly. I am disappointed that they failed to understand the necessity and value of spending time there.

Some may argue that we just don’t have time for white space in our curricula if we are to make our students college and career-ready. Still others may insist that we can’t lose our kids to boredom if we are to keep their eyes on their respective educational and vocational prizes. Pamela Paul, however, counters by asserting that teaching children to endure boredom rather than ratcheting up the entertainment will prepare them for a more realistic future, one that doesn’t raise false expectations of what work or life itself actually entails.

Perhaps our current fear and dislike of white space and the boredom that may accompany it will give rise to a whole new professional development industry. Students or employees bored, powerless before the blank page, paralyzed by unscheduled, unsupervised time? We can send our White Space Trainers to your school or workplace today! (Can’t you just imagine the power point presentations and training sessions designed to raise test scores and improve graduation rates through well-designed white space development?)

Seriously though, we have a white space crisis before us. I’m all for raising up a new generation of vanquishers, emboldened–not frightened–by the boredom and the mental, emotional, and spiritual spaces they encounter.