Imagine you’re stuck in traffic on the Mass Pike with no radio and your passenger is droning on about whether there should have been room for Jack on the floating door in “Titanic.”
That’s how bored I want you to be.
You might not believe me, so you haven’t turned the page. Yet.
I assure you my goal is to leave you stunningly bored.
Maybe I should restate that. A stunning amount of boredom would turn dullness inside out and make this interesting. My aim is to make you feel like you have to go to the BMV without an appointment, you’re alone, and as you walk in for the long wait, your cellphone runs out of juice.
I want you to be that bored because I want the best for you.
Studies show our brains don’t just need downtime, they need enough of it that they start craving stimulation. When excitement’s missing, our brains will figure out how to find it.
Creativity grows in the quiet spaces. Without those moments, those very boring moments, what happens to invention? Creativity is its mother, after all.
I thought a cheap dopamine hit was harmless. What could be wrong with feeling good? Now I wish I didn’t know the truth, because as I sit here writing this column, I’m feeling stuck and I’d like to watch a few quick videos to get a pick-me-up.
I want to fall into the deep algorithmic groove I’ve worn in the interwebs and watch Belgian Malinois climbing walls and opening refrigerators to bring their exhausted handler a beer. I want to hear a dog trainer explain the specific needs of a Malinois so I can tuck that information away, even though I’ll never have that dog. (The power dynamic would be all in the Malinois’ favor, so I’d be the one learning tricks for treats.)
I know, without any help, the thousand reasons why I shouldn’t have this or any dog, and I don’t need social media to tell me any of them. But I want it to. I also want it to tell me about the latest Senate hearing, how to crochet sweaters I’ll never make, and how to clean a rug. I must hear stories about “bridezillas” and the faux pas of people I’ll never know. And how can I go on if I don’t know the hilarious word of the day? (Today’s word is “shidiots,” defined as people who make bad decisions and end up in crappy situations.)
Information is a kind of currency, but it seems layering facts on top of memes on top of gossip isn’t building up a bank — it’s robbing it. All that stimulus is interrupting our brain’s meandering, and that dulls us down.
Is stimulus overload the new egg in the frying pan from those ’80s anti-drug commercials? Did Nancy Reagan have the right idea but the wrong villain? Is pot a healthier stress reliever than scrolling?
Do you remember being a little kid, when a day stretched in front of you and you had nothing to do? All you could do was flop about, sigh, and be so very, very bored. And after much suffering, you built a fort, called off the fight with your sister and invented a new game together, or taught the dog a new trick.
Problem solved. Fun found. And the dynamic hasn’t changed much since then.
Adulting helped me handle monotony with less drama, and I’ve had great ideas pop up when I mow the lawn or shampoo my hair. I’ve figured out how to turn my jumble of word salad into a relatable column. I’ve discovered what I need to say in an email reply I’ve been delaying. I’ve come up with a new program to benefit the newsrooms I work with.
These moments of discovery don’t happen when I’m knee-deep in infinite video scroll. And maybe, as I’ve let myself be sucked deeper into social media, those ah-ha moments happen less and less.
Maybe meme injections and influencer chatter obstruct our brains’ path to creativity? If that’s possible and I’m scrolling anyway, could I be the shidiot?
The argument for boredom isn’t just about the rise of social media in our lives, though I’m sure the people who code the algorithms that keep us coming back know what they’re doing. With so much vying for our attention, the power of dullness needs to be a conversation. As boring as it is, we all need to protect our creative potential.
The bad news is that there’s a simple solution nobody wants to hear: Intentionally make time to be bored.
What?! My brain just screeched and all my neurons are stomping their tiny feet. Maybe just a few more dog videos. And isn’t it important to know Jessica Fletcher’s house in “Murder She Wrote” is in California, even though the show is set in Maine? And what about the magic of free-flowing dopamine? There’s no good time to give that up!
Oh, crap. I think I’m the shidiot.
