I have been thinking a lot about boredom. And how so many of us, yes, myself included, seem to be almost allergic to it. I am not aware of this obviously when I search for constant stimulus, but my brain is.
It shows up in the exhaustion I feel at the end of the day, in the way I can’t quite remember the details of my life like I used to. How my own kids will bring up events that they remember so clearly, and yet I don’t even remember them happening.
I feel my hand reach for my phone before I am even aware of my brain telling me to do it. As I write this in my greenhouse, my phone lies next to me, calling to me with a quick check of Instagram to see how my latest post is doing, or perhaps to extend that Snapstreak I have with my husband.
None of this is new.
People much smarter than me have been ringing the alarm on attention issues and how we all need to be more bored, more often, for years. We know it. We try it. And then we get busy again, and we are right back to the cycle of stimulus chasing.
And yet, we also know that within boredom lies creativity, and so it is this that I ruminate on today. Because where did my own creativity go? And what happens to creativity when those behind all the latest AI tools want us to believe that it can come from a machine? What happens to creativity when we can be handed a manual for practically everything we can dream of doing, and assume that because our worlds are so filled already, what we have invented and created now is enough?
I see it with my students too. When I tell them to free draw, they immediately ask me if they can watch how to draw on YouTube. When I propose a dance break, they want a Just Dance with choreographed dance moves. When I invite them to write a story, often it is the first idea they go with, and often that idea is inspired by a game, a movie, or set in a world not created by them.
When I push them beyond the scripted or the known, they get a little lost. The insistence of needing help grows louder, the confidence drops, sometimes even followed by tears.
It turns out not knowing what to do, or not having a guide to follow, is a really scary place for some.
And I get it.
In a world where so many of us feel like we need to be perfect because that is all we are surrounded by, who wants to stand out as unique or creative? After all, when you take a risk, others may not like it, others may judge you. And with phones ever present, it is no longer just those close enough to you that can witness your strangeness. The whole world can point its finger and laugh.
So how do we invite boredom into our classes? Because it is kind of the opposite of what we have been told to do for so many years.
Do more, make it exciting, teach like a — insert whatever. Bring the exuberance and plan many activities in a short amount of time so you don’t lose their attention. Faster. More tech. More tools. More colors and noises. Bombard them so they don’t want to look away. Feel a dip in energy, do a game. Eyelids getting heavy — brain break!
And we leave the days needing to recover because our brains were never supposed to take so much in, no matter how well we think we do at it.
If we already know that we can’t win in the dopamine race that our brains are constantly in, then why even bother entering?
Because I am sick of running at a furious pace just to keep up with something I wasn’t meant to keep up with. And so in some ways, this year, unintentionally, I have been trying to bring boredom back into my classroom.
Slowing down purposefully, inviting children to sit in the discomfort of not getting help right away, telling them to try even when they are frustrated.
We have started with reading for more than 10 minutes now. A slow invitation into community and stories that allows everyone to settle in, settle down, and sink into their minds. I am steadfast in my commitment that this is one of the largest gifts we can give children. A book where they get to find peace, hopefully.
We do choose your own writing every week. Four choices are presented, or they can do their own, and as the year has grown so has the given time. Write beyond what you think you can. Allow yourself to think. No rush to get started, but select something that piques your attention. And keep at it. It doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be written.
Our art classes have been freer, techniques shown, and then make something. Back to the basics of how to use the world for inspiration, mixed in with more formal lessons.
Saying no to brain breaks as a way to relax, and instead recognizing them as a way to hype up. They bring the energy, not a break, and so I use them for that purpose.
Using our class meeting as a way to reflect on how our community is and what it needs work on, and taking the time it takes because that is the whole lesson.
Staying with our read aloud and not offering opportunities to do anything else while you listen, except that you can choose to lie down if you would like.
Actively looking for places to slow down, focus in, and not feel the urge to rush through lessons in order to keep the excitement up. Sure, that three week unit on idioms should have ended two weeks ago, but we are still in it, and we are still having fun.
I need them to be present, I would love for them to be alert, but I am going to give them time to be involved longer.
And so as I dream of next year, although I still teach until June 26th, as we do in Denmark, I am thinking of more ways to cultivate boredom, and hopefully creativity, with my new 1st graders.
I asked Claude what ideas it had to share, and of course it complimented me on my thinking, because according to AI, I am a genius. But the ideas shared beyond that were worth perhaps considering. Or perhaps, when I garden next, where I have banned AirPods and music, my mind will wander and more ideas will flow as my hands dig in the dirt and order starts to take shape. Because after all, I discovered that my key to creativity is dirty hands and plans that promise a bright future.
From Claude:
What a great question — and a countercultural one. Here are some ways to build productive boredom into your teaching:
Create empty space and protect it
The instinct is to fill every minute. Resist it. Build in unstructured time with no task attached — even 5–10 minutes where students have nothing they have to do. Don’t rescue them from the discomfort. That discomfort is the point.
Give prompts with no right answer and then go quiet
Ask a question, then wait far longer than feels comfortable. Don’t fill the silence. Don’t rephrase. Just wait. Students will eventually stop looking to you for direction and start looking inward.
Remove the scaffold before they feel ready
A lot of creative paralysis comes from over-scaffolded tasks. Give a topic, a blank page, and nothing else. The constraints they invent themselves are always more interesting than the ones you provide.
Slow down repetitive tasks on purpose
Repetition — copying, tracing, sorting — creates a kind of mild cognitive float that’s actually fertile ground for ideas. Don’t apologize for it. Let minds wander during it.
Ban “I’m done”
When students finish early, don’t give them the next thing. Say: now just sit with it for a bit. Make “done” a beginning rather than an ending.
Build in maker/wonder time with no product requirement
Time to draw, build, mess around with materials — with no expectation of output. No sharing, no display, no rubric. The absence of an audience changes everything.
Let lessons meander sometimes
Follow a tangent even if it takes you off-plan. Model for students that curiosity doesn’t always lead somewhere useful — and that’s fine. Wandering has value.
The underlying principle: most creativity tools in school inadvertently kill boredom by replacing it with stimulation. The goal is to stop filling the gap and trust that students will eventually fill it themselves — with something that came from them, not from you.
