It seems as if the whole world is trying to get us ex­cited about something.

What may have started out as the rulebook for a Madison Avenue advertising blitz has infected every part of society. It’s not enough to be mildly interested in purchasing or experiencing something. You have to be completely hyped up about it! You have to feel as if you simply cannot live without it! And if you don’t, then someone, somewhere, has failed.

This pattern has crept into our own world, too. Have you recently seen a new song, book, or recipe that isn’t introduced as utterly fabulous, inexpress­ibly superb, or absolutely the best ever? The adjec­tives may change, but the intent is the same: to get us excited.

Now, I’m not against excitement. On the contrary, I enjoy it very much. There’s nothing more enjoy­able than looking forward to some much anticipated event. If a tedious household chore looms, I plug my­self into an interesting shiur or some good music to pep things up. Because boring is no fun.

Yet we can’t deny that a good chunk of life is just that. Boring. Tedious. A long, and often fairly uninter­esting, slog.

***

Beginnings are exciting. When poised to launch a new project, whether a business venture, a high-school production, or writing a book, the very air siz­zles with a sense of adventure. Discussions abound. Speculation is rife. Plans are put into place and sleeves are figuratively rolled up, as we gear up to work on something new.

As the project nears completion, too, spirits rise in a rush of satisfied accomplishment. The final product which crowns our efforts is greeted with elation. While there may not be actual fireworks on display, the at­mosphere pops with splendid technicolor.

But what about the middle? What about the long, colorless stretch between the sizzling beginning and the final glorious crescendo? What about… the slog?

The lengthy and sometimes drudge-filled middle of the process seems to have very little to do with the ex­citement that characterizes either its beginning or its end. In fact, it seems to be their polar opposite. This especially applies to new starts. The feelings that consume us as we shower congratulations on a newly engaged couple, or welcome a new baby to the world, move into our dream house, start a fantastic new job or engage in any other momentous beginning, shine in our memory as the brightest of bright spots.

Over and over again, we retell the story of begin­nings. Studies have shown that happy couples love to repeat their personal shidduch saga to each other and to anyone else who’s willing to listen. Ditto for new mothers regaling those close to them with their birth stories. A happy beginning has no lack of excite­ment attached to it, either at the time it takes place or afterward, in hindsight.

What happens next, however, can be dampening. After the initial nov­elty wears off, marriages fall into predicable patterns. Bringing up those eagerly awaited and ecstatically wel­comed children demand constant re­petitive actions that can feel distinctly unstimulating to an active adult mind. That gorgeous new house needs to be repeatedly cleaned and maintained. They say that housework is basically moving dirt around from one place to another. Where’s the fun in that? When we’re busy raising a family, it’s always time to think about what to make for supper again. Even the most longed-for job has its moments of dull routine.

In other words, the slog that follows the initial excitement can feel endless. And frankly unexciting.

Somewhere at the back of our minds, we know that what we’re doing is meaningful. So why doesn’t it always feel that way?

***

I think that part of the problem is the excitement factor we’ve been talk­ing about.

The twenty-first century has led us to expect, and then to crave, constant stimulation. Look at the explosion of video games, in which players become addicted to living on a nearly perpetual high. Modern-day existence in general is a near-constant search for the high of new experiences or new stuff. In our own world, the excitement bar has been gradually raised, too. Birthday and Chanukah parties must feature unexpected themes and a décor that dazzles. Weddings must be as far over the top as we can reasonably, or un­reasonably, afford. Ordinary, perfectly adequate, Yom Tov meals and tables­capes have become passe’. A life lived without ongoing stimulation feels flat.

But it’s not the memorable birthday party or exotic vacation that forges strong family ties. It’s the dozens, and then hundreds, and then thousands of small, daily interactions that form and strengthen the bond between parents and children and between brothers and sisters.

It’s not the launch party at the start or the celebration dinner at the end that marks a project’s success, but the myriad hours of calm, patient effort in between. The nuts and bolts of the operation are what ultimately make or break it. Excitement aside, it’s the sometimes boring but always neces­sary day-to-day work that defines the quality of what we ultimately produce.

When writing a book, I feel a thrill of excitement at the start of a new work. Long afterward, as I write the words “THE END” at the bottom of the last page, I’m filled with a sense of joy­ous accomplishment. But it’s the long, steady slog in the middle that turns inchoate imaginings into a source of reading pleasure for others. The slog may not be as exciting as the start or the finish, but it’s the solid middle course that brings fulfillment.

Imagine giving birth to a new baby and then marrying it off, fully grown, a couple of days later. The powerful bond and equally powerful happiness we feel at weddings rests on a founda­tion of years. Years of doing ordinary things for our child, of simply being there for them, over and over again. Excitement has very little to do with either the closeness of the bond or the overwhelming emotion when we fi­nally lead them to the chuppah.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that hype and sizzle are perfectly fine and lots of fun in their place. But their place is often not in the middle of the long stretch where true accomplish­ment is slowly achieved. Nor should we expect it to be.

Every single boring push of the broom or spin of the dryer is chock-full of meaning, though they don’t ad­vertise it. Each quiet conversation with a spouse or listening ear as a child re­counts her day at school… each under­standing smile or hug of sympathy for a disappointed youngster… each care­ful brushstroke in a painting or labori­ous paragraph in a slowly developing novel, adds another block to the edifice we’re trying to build.

A skyscraper is not put up in a day. Not even a day that’s exploding with fireworks.

Let’s try to appreciate the slog, even as we look forward to and take pleasure in the far more exciting high points. At the end of the day, after all the fireworks fizzle and die, our tow­ering skyscrapers, built brick by brick by tedious brick, will stand proud and enduring. And if that’s not a cause for excitement, I don’t know what is!