Fear of Boredom

Boredom is humanity’s boogeyman. We’d rather scroll until our thumbs cramp, binge entire seasons in a weekend, or sign up for pottery classes we’ll abandon after two sessions than sit in silence with our own thoughts. Nothing terrifies us more than nothing happening.

But boredom has a bad PR agent. We talk about it like it’s a disease to cure, when really it’s more like compost—messy, unglamorous, but the stuff that feeds creativity. Almost every invention, from the wheel to TikTok dances, started because someone thought: “Wow, I’m bored. What if…?”

The real issue isn’t boredom—it’s the feelings boredom uncovers. Without distractions, we’re left alone with the buzzing in our own brains. That’s when the big questions sneak in: Am I happy? Am I doing enough? Should I be somewhere else? Better to refresh Instagram than wrestle with existential dread while waiting for pasta water to boil.

Still, boredom is worth befriending. Sit with it, and suddenly your brain dusts off forgotten ideas. You start noticing little details: the shape of clouds, the rhythm of your own breathing, the fact that your neighbor’s dog only barks at red cars. Boredom cracks open space, and space is where creativity sneaks in.

So maybe the fear of boredom isn’t fear of boredom at all. Maybe it’s fear of ourselves—our unfiltered thoughts, our unedited feelings. But if we brave it, boredom might just hand us the keys to something surprising. After all, isn’t that how kids survive long car rides? They turn seatbelts into swords and clouds into dragons. Maybe we’re all still capable of that—if we let ourselves get a little bored.