I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, staring at a half-empty cup of coffee that’s gone cold, and for the first time in a week, I’m not doing anything else. No podcast playing in the background. No scrolling through a feed of strangers’ vacations. No mental checklist of what needs to be moved from the washer to the dryer. It’s actually kind of uncomfortable. My brain is literally itching, searching for something—anything—to “accomplish.” And that, right there, is exactly why I wanted to write this today.
We’ve become these strange, hyper-efficient versions of ourselves. Or at least, we’re trying to be. We treat our lives like a series of problems to be solved or a system to be optimized. If we aren’t “making progress,” we feel like we’re falling behind. But behind what, exactly? I’ve been thinking a lot about the cost of this constant motion, and the more I look at it, the more I realize that we’re trading our peace of mind for the sake of feeling busy. It’s a bad trade. It’s a really, really bad trade.
The Optimization Disease and Why We Can’t Stop
It started subtly, didn’t it? A few years ago, we were just trying to be a bit more organized. Maybe we bought a nice planner or started a new morning routine. But somewhere along the line, “being organized” morphed into this weird obsession with “maximizing every minute.” We don’t just have hobbies anymore; we have “side hustles” or “personal growth projects.” If I’m going to go for a walk, I feel like I have to listen to an educational book so I’m “learning” while I move. If I’m cooking, I’m trying to find the most efficient way to meal prep for the next five days.
I’m guilty of this, too. I’ve spent more time researching the “perfect” way to spend my morning than actually just… having a morning. We’ve turned the simple act of living into a performance. We’re so focused on the output that we’ve completely forgotten how to enjoy the process. It’s exhausting. And the worst part is that even when we do hit those goals, the satisfaction lasts for about five minutes before we’re looking for the next thing to conquer. It’s like being on a treadmill that keeps speeding up, and we’re too afraid to hit the stop button because we think we’ll fly off the back.
But here’s the thing: you can’t optimize your way to a happy life. You can’t “hack” your way into feeling fulfilled. Fulfillment usually happens in the messy, unoptimized gaps between the tasks. It’s in the twenty minutes you spend talking to your neighbor over the fence, or the afternoon you spent lying on the grass looking at clouds because you were too tired to do anything else. Those moments aren’t “waste.” They’re the point.
The Lost Art of Being Bored
Remember being a kid and having absolutely nothing to do? That feeling of a long, hot summer afternoon stretching out ahead of you with no plans? It was agonizing at the time, sure. But that’s where the best stuff happened. You’d end up building a fort out of old blankets or inventing a game with a stick and a rock. Your brain had to create its own entertainment because there was nothing else available.
Nowadays, boredom is an endangered species. The second we have a moment of silence—waiting in line at the grocery store, sitting at a red light, waiting for the microwave to beep—we pull out our phones. We don’t let our minds wander anymore. We’ve forgotten how to just *be* with our own thoughts, and frankly, I think it’s making us a lot more anxious. When you never let the dust settle in your mind, you’re always operating in a state of low-level agitation. We need that “white space” for our brains to process what’s happening in our lives.
The Gap Between Input and Output
I read somewhere that we consume more information in a single day than someone in the 1800s consumed in their entire lifetime. I don’t know if the math on that is perfect, but it feels true, doesn’t it? We are constantly bombarded with other people’s opinions, lives, successes, and tragedies. There’s no gap between the input and our reaction. We don’t give ourselves time to think, “Wait, how do I actually feel about this?” before the next thing hits us.
By intentionally seeking out boredom—or at least, seeking out silence—we’re giving ourselves permission to catch up with our own lives. I’ve started leaving my phone in the other room when I eat lunch. At first, it felt incredibly lonely. I felt like I was missing out on something vital. But after a few days, I started noticing the way the light hits the floor in the afternoon. I noticed that I actually enjoy the taste of my sandwich when I’m not reading a news article about something 3,000 miles away. It’s a small win, but it feels like I’m reclaiming a little piece of my soul.
Why We’re So Afraid of Stillness
If we stop moving, we might have to face the things we’re trying to run away from. That’s the scary truth, isn’t it? Busyness is the world’s most effective anesthetic. If I’m busy, I don’t have to think about the fact that I’m not sure I like my career path. If I’m busy, I don’t have to deal with the quiet sadness of a relationship that’s grown cold. If I’m busy, I can pretend I’m in control.
Stillness is like a mirror. When you stop, you’re forced to look at yourself. You’re forced to feel the exhaustion you’ve been pushing down. You’re forced to acknowledge the parts of your life that aren’t working. And that’s painful. It’s much easier to just keep checking things off a list and telling everyone how “slammed” you are. We wear our busyness like a badge of honor, but most of the time, it’s just a shield.
But here’s the secret: once you push through that initial discomfort of being still, something else happens. You start to find a different kind of energy. Not the frantic, caffeine-fueled energy of a deadline, but a quiet, steady kind of clarity. You start to realize that the world doesn’t actually end if you don’t answer that email until tomorrow. You realize that you’re allowed to exist without being “useful.”
Reclaiming the Mundane
We’ve been taught that the mundane parts of life are chores to be outsourced or sped through. We want the fastest car, the quickest delivery service, the most efficient way to get through the day so we can get to the “good stuff.” But what if the mundane stuff *is* the good stuff? What if there’s a deep kind of magic in the things we usually overlook?
- Folding laundry: There’s a rhythm to it. The warmth of the clothes, the repetitive motion—it can be almost meditative if you let it.
- Making coffee: The sound of the water, the smell of the grounds. It’s a ritual, not just a caffeine delivery system.
- Walking the dog: Not for the exercise, but just to see the world at a slower pace. To watch your dog get excited about a specific blade of grass.
When we rush through these things, we’re essentially rushing through our lives. We’re saying, “This moment doesn’t matter, I just want to get to the next one.” But eventually, you run out of next ones. Learning to find joy in the “boring” parts of the day is probably the most practical way to increase your quality of life. It doesn’t cost anything, and it doesn’t require a vacation. It just requires you to pay attention.
The Bravery of Saying ‘No’
I used to be a chronic “yes” person. Someone needs help with a project? Yes. An invite to a party I don’t really want to go to? Yes. A volunteer committee for something I’m not passionate about? Yes. I thought I was being helpful, but really, I was just afraid of people being disappointed in me. I was also afraid of the empty space that a “no” would create.
Saying no is a skill, and like any skill, it takes practice. It’s about setting a boundary around your time and your energy. It’s about deciding that your peace of mind is more important than someone else’s convenience. And let me tell you, the first time you say “No, I can’t do that” without giving a twenty-minute long excuse, it feels like a superpower. You don’t need a “valid” reason to say no. “I don’t have the capacity for that right now” is a complete sentence. Even “I just want to stay home and stare at a wall” is valid, though you might not want to say that one out loud to your boss.
When we stop overcommitting, we finally have the space to do the things that actually matter to us. We have the energy to be present with the people we love. We have the time to pursue hobbies just because they’re fun, not because they’re “productive.” I recently started painting again. I’m terrible at it. The proportions are all wrong, and the colors usually turn into a muddy brown. But I love it. I love it because it’s for me, and it doesn’t have to be “good” for anyone else.
A Work in Progress
I don’t want to sound like I’ve got this all figured out. I don’t. This morning, I spent ten minutes looking for my phone while it was literally in my hand. I still feel that pull to check my notifications when things get quiet. I still struggle with the guilt of taking a nap on a Saturday afternoon when the house is a mess. It’s a constant tug-of-war between the person I’ve been conditioned to be and the person I actually want to be.
But I’m getting better at noticing the pull. I’m getting better at catching myself when I start to spiral into “optimization mode.” I’m learning that a “successful” day isn’t necessarily one where I checked off twenty tasks. Sometimes, a successful day is one where I felt calm. Or one where I actually listened when my friend was talking to me. Or one where I just sat on the porch and watched the sunset without trying to take a picture of it.
We’re all just trying to navigate this weird, loud world we’ve built for ourselves. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to be unfinished. It’s okay to just… stop for a minute. The world won’t stop spinning if you take a breath. In fact, you might find that once you stop trying to keep up with everything, you actually start to enjoy the view.
So, maybe today, try to find one small moment where you don’t do anything. Don’t check your phone. Don’t listen to music. Just sit there for five minutes. It might feel weird. You might feel restless. But stay there anyway. See what happens when the dust starts to settle. You might be surprised by what you find underneath all that noise.