Trust me on this – in 2019 we should all try to be a little more like Ed Sheeran

Ed Sheeran says he has given up marijuana, because it hinders his creativity. At first glance, this is just more anti-news from Sheeran. He is the most uncharismatic public figure we have. The richest solo artist in the world, who still sounds like a busker outside a GAME shop on Exeter High Street. His business is called Nathan Cable Touring, a name so uninspired it could be the shell company for a warlord. He has the perpetual appearance of a man interrupted in the middle of drying his hair after a shower. And yet, there’s something about his confession that “I find most ideas happen when you have a cup of tea” that is strangely radical.

It’s self-knowledge, and I am, despite never being a fan of the music, inspired by his ease with being boring. When I was young, I too shared a dark and shameful yearning for sobriety. I had a strong sense the world was weird and scary, and that I would need my senses about me to survive it. Sobriety is always discussed in terms of dichotomy – its main advocates being religious types, or ex-caners who now only drink carrot juice and pollen shots. But I am not a proselytiser, and never felt judgmental about people getting mashed on Smirnoff Ice and weed. They just seemed like ready-made solutions, or temporary stand-ins, for an identity. I wanted to get out of my head, but in ways I could remember and make use of: ways that involved books and music and imagination. I did not have the confidence to be comfortable with myself, though. I wish I’d had Sheeran’s comfort with boringness. I remember asking a friend to make a mixtape of happy hardcore music, because I wanted to be cool. As I struggled to ingest the gabble of EDM-tedium, I knew it wasn’t for me, but also thought: “This is what life will be for ever, pretending to like things I don’t.”

Beyond sobriety, there is such a release to understanding who you are, and being it. Rihanna can cover her nipples in Swarovski because she is innately fabulous and comfortable being her. Justin Bieber is no doubt pushing through plans for a human safari on the moon because he is a latter-day, anhedonic Roman emperor. I suspect Sheeran is realising the things people around him like are just not for him. He is far too boring. But in a celebrity culture obsessed by the behaviour of addicts, unstable pop stars and abusive actors, being boring can be a righteous, glorious stance. After all, Sheeran pays more tax in this country than Amazon or Starbucks, and what’s more boring than paying tax? Nothing.

Being boring is mentally healthy, morally admirable and socially responsible. Millennials, who tend to drink and smoke less, are often called boring by an older generation who were none of those things. Being boring is what most of us have to do, most of the time. So be more Sheeran, I say. If the biggest thrill of your day is the splash of Worcestershire sauce on your cheese on toast, write a song about that. Become the laureate of draping a duvet cover over a door because there’s no space on the drying rack. We all need to defrost a freezer sometimes. If you can keep your head while all about you are getting out of theirs, flying down K-holes and going on six-day benders, you’ll be a man, my son, you’ll be a man. And what’s more, you can count me as a fan.