Sometimes boredom asks us to turn our brains back on when the rest of the world turns off
There’s a lot of magic to be found in your phone notes.
In my case, I found this essay, from a recent flight from Ireland to the US, which was one of the most boring flights of my life. But it was also one of the most generative, because it was a chance to get curious, and to ask myself what the boredom I felt in this moment was trying to tell me (beyond “I want something to do.”)
In the intervening weeks since landing, old habits have snuck back in and I find myself regularly seeking entertainment, which isn’t a bad thing, but when it becomes a constant filler and background noise it risks separating me from myself. At a certain point, when everything I’m listening to is externally produced, they become a barrier between myself and the quieter voices of the natural world or my own inner wisdom.
I have a lot of opinions about our relationship to entertainment in general, and how quickly we jump at the chance to outsource our thinking, curiosity, and ability to be entertained and amused.
It’s evident in everything from folks defaulting to GenAI rather than our own searching, thinking, or writing skills, to the number of kids I encounter who, rather than drawing pictures or reading or making something when they’re out and about in the world, are playing phone games and never creating or imagining, just receiving and regurgitating information.
We’re all following the directions in a world built by someone else’s imagination rather than making worlds with our own.
(I’m not saying we should throw away our devices or anything, but like with anything, balance is key, and like with most tools, tech tools should be weighed in the balance of how they support us not just in living but in thriving).
The essay below is an example of this in action. I’d love to hear what resonates for you!
When the buzz of the world goes quiet, you have a chance to meet yourself
I’m on an airplane over the Atlantic, and the entertainment system has gone down.
It started with my row of seats and a few others, rippling out to cripple the entire system when, upon reboot, not a single in-seat monitor would start.
To say people were angry would be not an understatement but an oversimplification.
People were forced to run the gamut of emotions because, for several hours, they had no access to any digital entertainment at all, save for any games or shows they may have loaded locally on their phones or computer hard drives.
Since we were over the ocean, the airline’s ’free WiFi for rewards members!’ was also a non-option.
It was an interesting experiment to see how people reacted to having to be bored: an experience we modern folks are rarely tasked with. We always have the chance to tune out, to put on music or a show or play a game with flashy lights.
But boredom is where a certain kind of magic lies: because it gives us deeper access to our imaginations.
It’s the kind of magic where, when you can’t be handed entertainment on a platter, you have to create it.
Its the kind of generative world-building we typically credit children with, though since we’re all glued to devices these days maybe it’s not something children do as much any more either (not being an expert on kids’ development by any stretch, I can’t speak to if this is true or just my perception).
Occasionally, screens would flicker back on, and people would anxiously tap at the now non-functional buttons on their frozen screens, hoping, it seems, that if they tapped fast enough or desperately enough it would cause the screen to spring back to life, and perhaps, for their sense of order to be restored.
Once, Julia Albain told me a piece of wisdom passed on to her, when I complained about people who bring a speaker to broadcast their music while on a hike or a walk in a public park.
“Some people’s nervous systems are so fully on overdrive, all the time, that they actually can’t completely unplug and enjoy the quiet of nature because for them it’s too much.”
Slowing down, or creating or experiencing your own world rather than digesting someone else’s, feels unsafe. Too intense. Too Much.
(Her insight gave me a lot more grace in understanding why folks make that decision, though I’ll never be happy about having to listen to someone else’s music while I’m on a hike).
I had my laptop with me on this flight, and used part of the time to design a couple Culinary Curiosity School classes and a few odds and ends for writing coaching and energy work: and the unplug helped me tap into some of the recession-proofing ideas I’ve been planning to implement.
But I also felt the twinge of boredom as the 8 1/2 hour flight ticked on, and it made me wonder how long I could go without external entertainment in a place where I normally expect it?
I can go days and weeks without it when I’m in a place where I expect to not watch tv or use the internet (camping, artist residencies) but like most people I tend to zone out and turn on whatever shiny box is nearby if given the chance. Maybe not as often as I could. But I do.
This isn’t a bad thing, per se, but it has me thinking about balance, and about a desire within myself to experience boredom and to use boredom as an opportunity for generative thought and expansion. For imagining and creating rather than filling the space with thoughts and ideas and stuff that already exists. For being more driven by my outer landscape than wholly dictated to by the external world.
I’m on a quest to seek out boredom a little more often this week. How about you?
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Roots and Branches 