I recently watched a Harvard Business Review video (yes, I’m subscribed — and yes, call me boring, but all I think about is business). It was a monologue from Professor Arthur C. Brooks about the importance of boredom.

He makes the point that boredom has been completely crowded out by the little device I’m writing this on: the smartphone.

He’s right. Nobody even lets themselves sit through a red light anymore. The second the car stops, the phone comes out. Honestly, I see more people staring at their laps while driving than at the actual road.

But Brooks is onto something. We don’t even give ourselves the chance to get bored.

After a chaotic week, I took 30 minutes out and sat in Starbucks after dropping off this month’s parcels at Royal Mail.

The barista — clearly new — keyed in my order wrong and handed me what was essentially a cup of cream. Who orders cream and syrup with no coffee? Apparently me… or some dog owner ordering an oversized puppachino.

I’m not one to complain, so I just sat there staring at it. The whipped cream perched proudly on the mountain of fluff beneath — the exact whipped cream I always ask them to leave off. Every time it shows up results in a ranting voice note to my mate Nick. I basically turn into Bruce Willis in The Whole Nine Yards, losing it about mayo after specifically saying “no mayo.”

This time though, I caught myself. Mid-chuckle at the cream mountain, I looked up to see if anyone noticed me laughing alone like a lunatic. But nobody in Starbies (as my little cousin likes to call it) was watching.

Every single person — even the couple who probably complain they never get enough one-on-one time since having a kid — were glued to their phones.

Not one person bored. Not one person watching me. Not one person present.

Later that night, lying in bed after watching the HBR video, bored, I wondered whether I’d had a single moment of boredom this week. Or this month, for that matter.

And it hit me: I actually have these little moments of boredom all the time. I’ve chosen them.

I drive old cars with old tech. No Apple CarPlay lighting up my dash with texts and notifications. Just me, the gorgeous engine note, and red lights where my mind has space to wander.

If you collect records or old cars, you probably get what I mean. These moments of “boredom” are actually peaceful. Maybe boredom and peace act as synonyms in this context.

Years ago, during my long commutes to and from work, boredom gave me the space to design the life I live now. As I’ve grown, the boredom has become more precious — and more productive.

Without those moments of boredom, I wouldn’t have had the thought: what if I cloned Vinyl Deli’s backend and used it as a safe testbed? I’ve been rebuilding Vinyl Deli for three years now, and it’s far easier to experiment with a smaller customer base than risk disrupting the experience for members who’ve stuck with me for six.

And that, my friends, is how you announce a new business.

Yes, I’m spreading myself thinner than a pancake — but technically, I’m not.

The new business runs on the same spine as Vinyl Deli. Only newer, smoother, and built specifically for CDs. No clunky subscription system. The only real difference? Instead of vinyl, it’s CDs.

For £24 per month, you get two CDs. One you choose from a curated shortlist, and one I pick to complement your taste. No randomness, no filler.

It’s called Compact Club. Clever, right?

The idea came partly from redesigning Vinyl Deli’s systems, and partly from rediscovering my love of CDs. After buying one of my dream cars in 2021 (with an actual CD player still in it), I started collecting again — adding to the stack I’ve hoarded since childhood.

For the record (pun painfully intended), Vinyl Deli is still my main focus. Vinyl Deli won’t be changing in any way. Compact Club just gives CDs their own little corner of the world.

Compact Club is for fellow car nerds. The ones who keep their cars true, with the original CD players intact. Who don’t rip them out for some CarPlay faff. Who still sit at traffic lights in music-filled boredom.

And it’s for the collectors too — those who, like record addicts, buy CDs and sink into their chair at home, letting the music fill the room.

It’s peaceful.

Compact Club is launching soon. Early access will be limited so I can get the experience right before opening fully.

If you want to be one of the first, join the waitlist:
https://www.compactclub.co/

From a place of boredom,
Jordan

P.S. If CDs aren’t your thing but you know someone with a car full of jewel cases, send this post to them. I’d really appreciate it 🫶🏽