When was the last time you felt bored?
Sometime in 2001, probably.
I can remember being a kid and constantly moaning to my mum.
“I’m boooored.”
She’d make a few suggestions on how I could make my own fun, and I’d plod off in a huff to find something to do.
Some of my favourite things to do were:
Playing in the garden.
Drawing, painting, collaging etc.
Writing stories.
Reading stories.
Listening to my home-recorded cassettes on my Walkman.
Recording the radio onto said cassettes.
Reenacting music videos in my bedroom (I once stood on my mirror pretending to be a Spice Girl on a hoverboard in Spice Up Your Life. It broke. I told my mum it fell off the wall. Sorry, Mum).
Hyper-focusing on my latest obsession — Vikings and runes, the Egyptians, dogs, etc.
I was the youngest of three girls, born after a bit of a gap (no, I wasn’t an accident) so I had a little bit of an only child experience. I had lots of friends and was really close to my “cousins” (the ones whose parents you call Auntie and Uncle, even though they’re not). I wasn’t always alone — just in those moments in between.
I must’ve always had a creative seed in my brain, but those quiet moments were when it really flourished. I had the innocence of childhood on my side — no judgement, no rules or limits. I’d sit for hours drawing, cutting, and sticking. And it wasn’t just my artistic ability that grew — it was my ability to solve problems (how do I fold this origami? Why won’t this lid fit on the box I made?) and the patience and focus it took to bring something to life.
I wonder — if I hadn’t been bored, would I have done any of this?
If I’d had a computer, would I have just spent all my time on MSN and The Sims instead? (Dear reader — the answer, as proved by my teen years, is absolutely yes.)
If I’d had a phone… would I have just sat staring at the screen all day? Probably.
This isn’t a point about children — it’s a point about us, as fully grown adults. How often do we actually feel bored?
It’s so easy to fill hours of time with social media, texting a mate (or several at once), online shopping, browsing, doomscrolling the news. All while sitting in one spot, staring at one screen.
I’m obviously not saying anything groundbreaking here — but if we went one full day without the internet or our phones, how often would we find ourselves feeling bored? And more importantly — what would we get up and do instead?
Would you finally get through your to-do list?
Do that job you’ve been putting off for months?
Try something new? Go somewhere new?
Read an actual book or newspaper?
Pick up a pen?
Visit someone instead of texting them?
Buy less?
Every so often (though not as often as I’d like), I try to have an analogue day — a full day with no internet, no phone, no laptop. It’s not as easy as you’d think. It really hits me how often I want to reach for my phone — to message someone, search for something random, or look something up just because it popped into my head. You start having to find alternatives for everyday habits — and the answers are all things that used to be normal.
No Spotify = play a vinyl
No Pinterest = use a cookbook
No laptop = write in a notebook
No Apple Pay = panic about where you hid your bank card in its “safe place”
No online shopping = go to a real shop (gasp)
It’s funny how something so trivial becomes a novelty — but when it all goes to plan, the day feels oddly exciting.
Now, despite how this might sound, I’m no Luddite. I don’t hate the internet — I’ve got a lot to thank it for. But personally, I’ve noticed how deeply my reliance on it affects who I am and how I function.
As a creative person, boredom is important to me. I need time to solve problems. I need to do things with my hands. Without time and space — without that drive to get off the sofa and experience something new — my creativity starts to stagnate. Like still water, slowly rotting.
But the more I flow, the fresher and brighter I feel.
I know this through trial and error. I slip back into old habits and wonder why I feel out of sorts. It’s a constant work in progress. And unfortunately, the stagnant life is often the easier one — so when convenience calls, it’s hard to turn it away.
But through both my career and personal experience, I’ve learned that I have a responsibility to myself to keep the flow going.
To keep my eyes open.
To take in the world around me, rather than stare down at a screen.
To take a book on the tram. To walk without headphones.
I don’t do it every time, but I do it enough to remind myself that my mind needs to be open if I want to feel alive.