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You might be asking: Isn’t ridding ourselves of boredom a positive change? Not
necessarily. Boredom is the feeling we experience as we transition into a lower
level of
stimulation. It most often appears when we are
suddenly
forced to adapt to this lower
level
—when we find ourselves looking for something to do on a Sunday afternoon or
switch from writing an email to sitting in a grueling meeting:
It’s no wonder that boredom eludes us when we always have a device to reach for or
a distracting website to visit
—there is always something to amuse us in the moment. As
a consequence, we don’t often find ourselves having to adjust to a lower level of
stimulation. In fact, we frequently have to yank our focus away from these devices when
it’s time to actually get something done.
I’m a big fan of experimenting with my own advice, because many tips that sound
good on the surface don’t actually work in practice. I recently did so to determine, once
and for all, whether boredom is, in fact, a positive thing. Is boredom productive in small
doses? How does it differ from scatterfocus? Are we right to resist it?
During a monthlong experiment I intentionally made myself bored for an hour a day.
In that period I shut off all distractions and spent my time and attention on an
excruciatingly boring task, based on the thirty weirdest ideas suggested by my website
readers:
1. Reading the iTunes terms and conditions
2. Staring at the ceiling
3. Watching C-SPAN 3
4.
Waiting on hold with Air Canada’s
baggage claim department
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5. Watching C-SPAN 2
6. Watching my turtle, Edward, swim back and forth in her tank
7. Staring at a slowly rotating fan blade
8. Painting a tiny canvas with one color
9. Watching paint dry
10. Looking out my office window
11. Removing and counting the seeds on a strawberry with a pair of tweezers
12. Watching grass grow
13. Staring out a train window
14. Watching an online chess
tournament
15. Watching one cloud in the sky
16. Waiting at the hospital
17. Watching a dripping faucet
18. Ironing every piece of clothing I own
19. Counting the 0s in the first 10,000 digits of pi
20. Watching my girlfriend read
21. Making dots on a sheet of paper
22. Eating alone in a restaurant, without a book or phone
23. Reading Wikipedia articles about rope
24. Watching a clock
25. Watching every file transfer from my computer to an external hard drive (and
back)
26. Peeling exactly five potatoes
27. Watching a pot boil
28. Attending a church service in Latin
29. Watching C-SPAN
30. Moving small rocks from one place to another, repeatedly
A few times each hour I randomly sampled what was going on in my head: whether
my thoughts were
positive, negative, or neutral; whether my mind was focused on
something or was wandering; how constructive the thoughts were; how I felt; and how
much time I estimated had passed since the previous sample.
Some of the findings from this experiment were unsurprising. As soon as my external
environment became less stimulating, I naturally turned my attention inward, where my
thoughts were infinitely more interesting and stimulating. In this sense, boredom is really
just unwanted scatterfocus. I still found my mind planning for the future, processing
ideas, and bouncing between the past, present, and future, just as
it does in habitual
scatterf
ocus mode, but I didn’t enjoy the process as much or have the desire to keep
going.
The experiment also yielded a few unexpected side effects. One that made me feel
especially uneasy was how, in the absence of stimulation, I instinctively looked for
distractions to occupy my attention. Forced to remove the seeds of a strawberry with a
pair of tweezers or read Wikipedia articles related to rope, I found myself looking for
something,
anything
to do: a mess to clean, a device to pick up
—any pacifier that would
distract me from the thoughts in my head. If I had been able to administer myself an
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electric
shock in that moment, I might have done it. Our mind is accustomed to constant
stimulation and tends to seek it as if it were a universally good thing. It isn’t.
It’s not a coincidence that so many tactics in this book involve making your work and
life less stimulating
—the less stimulated you are, the more deeply you can think. Each
time we eschew boredom for stimulation, we fail to plan, unearth ideas our mind has
incubated, or recharge so we can work later with greater energy and purpose.
This is not to say boredom is totally useful.
Unlike habitual scatterfocus, boredom
makes us anxious, uneasy, and uncomfortable
—feelings I constantly had during the
experiment.
More boredom is not something that I’d wish on anyone—but more mind
wandering
is
. Fortunately our mind wanders to the same places during episodes of
either scatterfocus or boredom, so scatterfocus is just as positive
—it lets our mind
wander while we become less stimulated, but it does so with purpose.
There used to be an app called Disk Defragmenter that came preinstalled on all
Windows
computers, back when every PC shipped with a slow, spinning hard disk. If
your computer was running sluggishly, the program would dutifully rearrange the
discontiguous blocks of files so they would be physically closer on the drive. This
significantly sped up the computer, because the drive would no longer have to spin like
crazy to search for the elements of a given file scattered across its platter.
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Regardless of how technical you were, using the app was
always oddly satisfying,
and even visually pleasing, as it displayed an image of blocks strewn across a
rectangle, which would be dutifully rearranged and cleaned up during the running of the
program.
Our mind works in a similar way. We defragment our thoughts when we carve out
space between tasks. This helps us think clearly and gives us extra attention to process
relationships, experiences, ideas, and problems we can’t figure out. In these moments,
boredom and scatterfocus are powerful because they enable useful self-examination.
As I hope you’ll agree, these activity gaps are just as valuable as the activities
themselves. It’s time to reclaim them.