Learning to Love Boredom

The Art of Embracing Empty Space #

I’ve been cultivating a counterintuitive skill lately—the capacity to be comfortably bored. This practice runs against our cultural programming, yet I’ve discovered it holds remarkable potential. While I once viewed boredom as something to avoid at all costs, I’m now intentionally creating space for it in my life.

That’s not to say I’ve completely overcome the impulse to fill every quiet moment. I still catch myself reflexively reaching for activities to occupy my mind—reading a book, drafting an essay, taking a neighborhood walk, watching a thoughtful film, or occasionally immersing myself in an interactive game (which, unlike passive media consumption, engages rather than numbs the mind).

What I’m discovering, though, is the profound distinction between busyness and presence. Busyness operates from a scarcity mindset—filling every moment with activity as though empty time represents waste or missed opportunity. This constant motion creates an illusion of productivity while often keeping us from the deeper engagement that emerges from stillness. While idleness might be considered busyness’s opposite, boredom takes us a step further—it’s not merely the absence of activity but a distinct psychological state that opens unique cognitive doorways.

The Busyness Illusion #

I’ve noticed an interesting pattern in our social interactions—the invocation of “busyness” as a universal excuse. When someone says they’re “too busy” for something, I’ve found it’s rarely about a genuine lack of time. More often, it’s a socially acceptable way to avoid activities without directly declining them. It’s our cultural shorthand for “I’m prioritizing other things,” without requiring the vulnerability of expressing actual preferences.

This culture of performative busyness serves multiple functions: it signals importance (being in-demand), provides a barrier against unwanted commitments, and reinforces our societal value of productivity above all else. Yet this constant state of motion often masks a deeper avoidance—of difficult conversations, of introspection, or simply of experiences that don’t align with our preferences or comfort zones.

What’s particularly fascinating is how we deploy busyness reflexively, even with ourselves—creating packed schedules and endless to-do lists partly to avoid the discomfort of unstructured time and the self-reflection it might invite. This raises an intriguing question: What might we discover about ourselves if we stopped being so perpetually “busy”?

The Creative Power of Boredom #

Paradoxically, my mind operates at its highest capacity precisely when I’m not trying to make it perform. When I allow myself to experience what we typically call “boredom,” my neural pathways seem to reconfigure themselves, making connections that remained elusive during my focused work sessions. This mental state—where attention isn’t directed toward any particular task—activates what neuroscientists call the “default mode network,” a constellation of brain regions that light up when we’re not focused on the external world.

This phenomenon explains why I consistently generate my most innovative ideas during activities that provide just enough engagement to quiet the analytical mind while allowing the associative mind to wander freely:

• Walking through urban or natural landscapes
• During morning routines or personal care activities
• In the meditative environment of a shower or bath (a phenomenon so common it’s spawned an entire online community)
• During transitional moments like waiting for or riding public transportation

To call these activities “boring” mischaracterizes their essential nature. They’re actually richly generative contexts that provide the perfect cognitive environment for insight—minimal external demands coupled with light sensory stimulation. These aren’t empty moments to endure but valuable creative incubators available at remarkably low cost.

I find particular magic in subway rides—these underground journeys create a unique social microcosm where people from every conceivable background share space in what might be our last truly democratic public forum. The subway car becomes a living anthology of human stories, complete with its own poetry (both literal—in the form of transit system literary programs—and figurative in the unfolding human drama).

Breaking the Digital Dopamine Cycle #

One of my most significant personal developments has been learning to resist the instant-gratification reflex. Our digital landscape offers an endless buffet of “anti-boredom” options—podcasts filling every silent moment, audiobooks converting commutes into productivity sessions, social media platforms designed for infinite scrolling, and news sites engineered for maximum engagement.

I’ve become increasingly conscious of the neurological programming at work when I instinctively reach for my phone during moments of inactivity. This behavior isn’t simply habit—it’s a conditioned response reinforced through carefully engineered variable reward mechanisms. Each notification, like, or new content refresh delivers a small dopamine hit, creating a powerful feedback loop that our brains find exceptionally difficult to resist. The colored notification dots, pull-to-refresh mechanisms, and autoplay features aren’t accidental design choices—they’re deliberate psychological triggers crafted to maintain our engagement.

The rewards of disrupting this cycle are profound. Walking through New York City with your phone tucked away transforms the urban landscape from background scenery into an immersive experience. Colors become more vivid, architectural details emerge, and the rich tapestry of human interaction becomes accessible. I’ve had fascinating conversations with strangers that never would have happened had I been scrolling through my feed. My mind, freed from digital distraction, naturally generates insights and connections that would otherwise remain undiscovered.

This practice offers psychological benefits that rival pharmaceutical interventions for anxiety and stress—the natural engagement with one’s surroundings activates our parasympathetic nervous system, counterbalancing the fight-or-flight response that characterizes much of modern life. Unlike medication, this approach has no negative side effects—only the positive “side effect” of greater mindfulness and creativity.

Finding Natural Boundaries and Embracing Impermanence #

My two dogs have become unexpected allies in this digital detox journey. One of them, surprisingly enough, approaches walks with remarkable reluctance (a trait I find endearingly contrarian in a species known for excitement about outdoor adventures). Their combined needs create a natural boundary between me and my devices—their leashes, personalities, and unpredictable interests demand my complete attention, making phone use physically impractical even when the impulse arises.

This practical constraint has evolved into an intentional practice. I now deliberately leave my phone behind during most outings unless there’s a genuine need for it—like extended time away from home or specific functional requirements such as digital payments. This simple choice creates a clear delineation between connected and disconnected states of being, allowing me to fully inhabit physical reality rather than constantly straddling digital and physical worlds.

The freedom from constant connectivity generates an unexpected benefit—liberation from what social scientists call FOMO (fear of missing out). When temporary disconnection becomes normalized, the anxiety about “staying current” naturally diminishes. The world continues spinning whether I’m monitoring it through my screen or not, and most digital urgency proves illusory when examined with even slight distance.

I occasionally experience the reflexive concern about capturing spontaneous insights that emerge during these phone-free periods. The writer’s instinct to immediately document every promising idea is powerful—what if this brilliant thought never returns? However, I’ve discovered something valuable about ideas: the truly significant ones demonstrate remarkable persistence. They return, often in more developed forms, when given space to incubate naturally. Plus, there’s something particularly satisfying about crafting these thoughts later on a proper keyboard, where the tactile experience enhances the articulation process.

The Liberation of Structured Absence #

There’s something profoundly revitalizing about boredom when we reframe it as mental spaciousness rather than emptiness. Breaking free from the neurochemical dependency of digital engagement initially presents challenges—our brains, conditioned to expect constant stimulation, register this absence as discomfort. However, once we recognize these patterns as constructed rather than innate needs, the path to liberation becomes clearer.

The practice of intentional boredom offers a radical proposition for our hyperconnected era: perhaps we should deliberately cultivate periods of understimulation. This isn’t deprivation but rather a recalibration of our attentional systems. When we temporarily set aside our devices, several transformative possibilities emerge:

The natural world reveals itself with renewed clarity—cloud formations become dynamic canvases, architectural details tell stories of human creativity across generations, and seasonal transitions offer subtle but profound narratives about time and change. Our social connections deepen when not mediated through screens—conversations develop natural rhythms, non-verbal cues enrich communication, and shared silence becomes comfortable rather than awkward.

Most importantly, we reconnect with our fundamental humanity—the capacity for wonder, presence, and direct experience that defined human consciousness long before digital intermediaries. Those who remember pre-digital life might recognize this feeling as a homecoming to a more integrated way of being. For younger generations, it offers a glimpse of an alternative relationship with technology—one where we use these tools consciously rather than being unconsciously used by them.

In embracing boredom, we don’t reject modern conveniences but rather establish a more intentional relationship with them. We reclaim our attentional sovereignty and discover that the most meaningful aspects of existence often emerge precisely when we stop trying to fill every moment with content, allowing space for genuine experience to unfold at its own pace.