I remember sitting on my porch a few weeks ago, just as the sun was starting to dip behind the neighbor’s crooked oak tree. I had my phone in my hand, of course. I was halfway through scrolling an endless feed of people I haven’t spoken to in ten years, mixed with ads for things I don’t need, when the battery finally gave up the ghost. The screen went black. My reflection stared back at me—a bit startled, a bit tired. My first instinct wasn’t relief. It was a weird, low-level panic. I actually looked around for a charger like I was looking for oxygen. But then, I just… didn’t. I sat there. I watched a squirrel try to navigate a particularly thin branch. I listened to the distant hum of a lawnmower three streets over. And for the first time in months, my brain actually started to breathe.
We’ve become really bad at being bored. Or maybe “bad” isn’t the right word. We’ve become afraid of it. We treat a spare five minutes like a void that needs to be filled immediately. If we’re standing in line for coffee, out comes the phone. If we’re waiting for a friend at a restaurant, out comes the phone. Even in those quiet moments before sleep, we’re filling the space with noise. We think we’re being efficient. We think we’re staying “connected.” But I’ve started to realize that by filling every single crack in our day with content, we’re actually starving the most creative parts of ourselves.
The Productivity Trap and the Death of Hobbies
There’s this unspoken rule these days that if you aren’t producing something, you’re wasting time. I’ve felt it. You probably have too. It’s that nagging guilt that creeps in when you’re just sitting on the couch staring at the ceiling. We’ve turned everything into a “side hustle” or a “growth opportunity.” Even our hobbies have to have an output. If you like gardening, you’re supposed to have a beautiful Instagram feed about it. If you like baking, you’re supposed to start a small business. It’s exhausting.
When did we decide that “doing nothing” was a sin? I look back at how I spent my summers as a kid. There were hours—actual, literal hours—spent just lying on the grass, looking for shapes in the clouds. I wasn’t “optimizing my downtime.” I was just existing. And it’s funny, because those are the moments I remember most clearly. I don’t remember the three hours I spent scrolling through news headlines yesterday, but I remember the way the light hit the trees during those slow childhood afternoons. There’s a richness in the stillness that we’re losing, and I think it’s making us all a little bit more anxious and a lot less imaginative.
The problem is that our brains aren’t designed to be “on” 24/7. We need that low-stimulation environment to process things. When we’re constantly taking in new information, our internal filing cabinet just gets messy. We never get around to organizing the thoughts we already have because we’re too busy trying to cram in new ones. It’s no wonder we all feel so overwhelmed.
The Beauty of the “Brain Hum”
I’m not a scientist, but I’ve noticed something about how my own head works. When I’m actively trying to solve a problem—whether it’s a conflict at work or a creative block—I rarely find the answer by staring intensely at a screen. The “aha!” moments never happen when I’m grinding. They happen when I’m in the shower. Or when I’m driving without the radio on. Or when I’m washing the dishes and just letting my mind wander.
There’s a sort of background hum that happens when you let your guard down. Some people call it daydreaming, others call it mind-wandering. Whatever it is, it’s where the magic lives. When you stop giving your brain specific tasks to do, it starts making connections on its own. It links a conversation you had three days ago to a book you read last year, and suddenly, you have a new perspective. But you have to give it the space to do that. If you’re constantly feeding it “input,” it never has the chance to generate its own “output.”
Why we fight the silence
So why is it so hard? Why do we feel that physical itch to reach for a distraction the moment things get quiet? I think it’s because silence lets our own thoughts catch up to us. And sometimes, our thoughts are loud. They’re full of worries, “to-do” lists, and reflections we’d rather ignore. Distraction is a very effective numbing agent. If I’m looking at a video of a cat playing a piano, I don’t have to think about that awkward thing I said in a meeting earlier. But the thing is, those thoughts don’t go away just because we ignore them. They just sit there, adding to the weight of our stress, until we finally sit still long enough to deal with them.
Getting Better at Doing Nothing
I’ve been trying to “practice” boredom lately. It sounds ridiculous, I know. How do you practice doing nothing? But it really is a skill that we’ve let atrophy. It’s like a muscle that’s gone weak from lack of use. Here are a few ways I’ve been trying to reclaim my headspace, and honestly, it’s been a bit of a struggle, but a good one:
- The No-Phone Morning: I try not to touch my phone for the first thirty minutes after I wake up. No checking emails, no scrolling. Just coffee and looking out the window. It changes the entire tone of my day.
- The “Liner” Rule: When I’m waiting in a line, I keep my phone in my pocket. I just look at the people around me. I notice the architecture of the building. It’s uncomfortable for about two minutes, and then it’s actually quite peaceful.
- Intentional Staring: This sounds weird, but sometimes I just set a timer for five minutes and sit in a chair with no music, no book, nothing. I just look at the room. It’s amazing how much stuff you notice in your own house when you actually look at it.
- Walking Without a Purpose: I go for walks without a podcast or music. Just the sound of my feet on the pavement. At first, it’s boring. Then, it’s meditative.
It’s not about being a monk. It’s not about deleting all your apps and moving to a cabin in the woods (though that sounds nice some days). It’s just about creating little islands of stillness in a sea of noise. It’s about giving yourself permission to be “unproductive” for a little while every day.
The Ripple Effect of Stillness
What’s surprised me most is how this “nothingness” has bled into the rest of my life. I’m less reactive. When someone cuts me off in traffic or an email comes in that’s a bit snarky, I don’t immediately flare up. Because I’ve been practicing sitting with my own thoughts, I have a little more space between the event and my reaction. I’ve found that I’m more patient with people, and I’m definitely more patient with myself.
I’ve also found that my conversations are better. When I’m not constantly looking for the next hit of digital dopamine, I can actually listen to what someone is saying. I’m not just waiting for my turn to speak or thinking about what I’m going to check on my phone next. I’m just… there. It’s a subtle shift, but people notice it. They feel heard, and I feel more connected to them than I ever did through a “like” on a photo.
A small warning
I should probably mention that when you start doing this, you might feel a bit restless. You might feel like you’re missing out on something. That “FOMO” feeling is real. You’ll think, “What if something important happened in the last twenty minutes?” Spoilers: it probably didn’t. And if it did, it’ll still be there when you get back. The world won’t stop spinning because you decided to look at a bird for ten minutes. I promise.
Closing the Gap
I think we’re all just a bit tired. Not the kind of tired that a nap can fix, but a deep-down mental exhaustion from the constant demand for our attention. Every app, every screen, every “notification” is someone asking for a piece of us. And we give it away so freely. We give it away until there’s nothing left for our own inner lives.
Choosing to be bored is an act of rebellion in a world that wants you to be constantly engaged. It’s a way of saying that your time—and your internal peace—is more valuable than the latest viral trend. It’s not a waste of time to sit and think. It’s not a waste of time to watch the clouds. In fact, it might be the most important thing you do all day.
So, next time you find yourself with a spare moment, maybe leave the phone in your pocket. Let the silence be a bit awkward. Let your mind wander down some weird, dark alleys. See where it goes. You might be surprised at what you find when you stop looking for something to do. It’s a quiet, slow process, but it’s one that feels a lot more like real life than the digital version ever could. We don’t need more information; we just need more space to understand what we already know.
I’m still not great at it. I still reach for my phone more than I’d like to admit. But I’m getting there. I’m learning that the world is a lot more interesting when you aren’t trying to capture it, but are actually just living in it. And honestly? The view from my porch is a lot better than anything I’ve ever seen on a five-inch screen.