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Learning to Love Boredom

·4 mins

I’m learning to get better at being bored. There have been times when I actively avoided boredom, in particular in my childhood I thought of boredom as a bad thing. I still tend to fill free time with “activities” more than I should. My go-to boredom fillers include reading, writing, taking walks, watching TV or movies (as much as I hate to admit it), and occasionally a video game (which, unlike TV, requires some degree of active participation).

But these days, I’m deliberately practicing the art of boredom. Being bored stands in opposition to being busy: busyness means cramming your schedule with something—anything—as if catastrophe will strike the moment you reclaim time for yourself and exist purely in the present moment. The opposite of busyness might technically be idleness, but boredom takes us a step beyond idle (perhaps this post explores both states: being bored while idle).

I find myself irritated by people who constantly claim to be “busy,” largely because busyness often serves as a convenient excuse to avoid something specific. In reality, these people are typically only “busy” avoiding whatever activity they don’t want to do. Busyness becomes the universal, unquestionable excuse to sidestep anything and everything.

My brain operates at maximum capacity all the time—especially when I’m bored. This proves advantageous because I’ve noticed my best ideas emerge during periods of boredom, which means I should maximize my boredom time. My most productive thinking happens during seemingly mundane activities:

Labeling these activities as “boring” does them a disservice. They’re actually rich, vibrant experiences with minimal costs. You can enjoy them alone or with companions. While subway rides aren’t free, they cost significantly less than Broadway shows while offering their own unique entertainment. I’ve always appreciated riding the subway—there’s something profound about the diverse mix of humanity (the true “great equalizer”) you encounter, plus there’s always poetry to read on the train.

I’ve trained myself to resist reaching for anti-boredom consumption tools: podcasts, audiobooks, Reddit (thankfully, with Apollo gone, I no longer use Reddit on my phone), or random news sites. Now I consciously avoid that reflexive pocket-reach for my phone, breaking free from the dopamine loop of mindlessly refreshing various apps for no reason beyond executing deeply-grooved neural pathways—pathways programmed to seek those colorful notification dots that fuel our endless addiction feedback loops.

When you walk through New York City with your phone tucked away, you experience an entirely different world. You notice previously invisible details, engage with strangers, have spontaneous conversations, and allow your mind to wander across all manner of thoughts, discovering brilliant ideas along the way. It’s remarkably calming—like the most effective anti-anxiety medication but without side effects.

My two dogs (one of which, astonishingly, despises walks) make smartphone engagement during outings nearly impossible anyway. They demand my complete attention, preventing phone use even if temptation strikes. I generally only carry my phone when absolutely necessary—for extended trips or when I specifically need it (like for payments). Otherwise, I prefer leaving it behind, forcing engagement with actual reality rather than digital escape. This liberates me from the attention economy’s grip, eliminating any fear of missing out.

Sometimes I consider bringing my phone to capture ideas that materialize during these boredom-induced thinking sessions—potential blog topics or insights worth preserving. But that impulse fades as I remind myself: truly valuable ideas will resurface when I’m near my MacBook, where I can document them with a proper keyboard.

Ah, boredom—like a breath of fresh air. Breaking the dopamine addiction cycle isn’t easy, but recognizing the pattern makes escape possible.

We should collectively embrace more boredom. Put the devices away. Look at clouds, buildings, trees, and whatever surrounds you during an evening stroll. Engage with friends and family without digital mediation. Try remembering what human existence felt like before our collective machine addiction—if you were fortunate enough to experience that era.

The most innovative solutions, creative breakthroughs, and profound realizations don’t emerge while scrolling. They come during those precious moments when we allow our minds to wander aimlessly through the landscape of boredom.

Our perpetually connected world has transformed boredom from a natural state into a seemingly intolerable condition requiring immediate remedy. But what if boredom isn’t a problem to solve, but rather a resource to cultivate?

Next time boredom approaches, resist the urge to fill it. Instead, welcome it as an old friend bearing gifts of clarity, creativity, and calm. Your mind—and your life—will be richer for it.