Relearning How to Be Bored (On Purpose)

I don’t really like sitting in silence. If you know me, you know I’m always looking for something — anything — to keep my brain entertained. For me, learning to sit still isn’t about lying on the couch staring at the ceiling. It’s about learning how not to reach for my phone every time my mind goes quiet.

That’s what boredom really is for a lot of us — a tiny moment of stillness we’re desperate to fill. It shows up as endless scrolling, checking, refreshing — all because sitting with ourselves can feel uncomfortable, especially when your brain (like mine) never stops moving.

I’m not perfect at this — not even close. But I do show up for it. Every morning, rain or shine, I take my dogs, Conrod and Susan, for a long walk. The only thing that stops us is a torrential downpour — and even then, I’ll jump on the treadmill instead. An hour and a half dedicated to nothing but the rhythm of my feet, their paws, my breath, maybe some music in my ears — but no screen in my hand.

That daily walk does more for my mental health than any scroll ever could. It’s boredom — but in a good way. It’s my brain having room to wander, not just react.

The truth is, we don’t even know how to be bored anymore. We’re trained to kill every quiet second with content, comments, updates — anything to avoid just being for a moment. But when we don’t let ourselves feel bored, we cut ourselves off from what lives underneath. The ideas. The clarity. The conversation with the real person next to us, not the stranger behind a screen.

Sometimes I think about how much we lose when we trade real boredom for fake stimulation. Some of the best talks I’ve ever had have happened when I stopped hiding behind my phone. Some of my best ideas have come to me when I was just walking — no screen, just my dogs, my breath, my thoughts.

So here’s my gentle nudge — for you, and for me too: maybe boredom isn’t the enemy. Maybe it’s the tiny doorway to something softer, clearer, and real. Maybe it’s where the good stuff lives, just waiting for you to stop scrolling long enough to notice.

Next time you catch yourself reaching for your phone out of habit — maybe put it down for a minute. Look around. Take a breath. Talk to the person next to you. Or take a walk with no agenda but fresh air and your own head for company. The notifications can wait. Sometimes the best version of you is waiting right there in the quiet.