Why Nobody Can Just Be Bored Anymore

I was sitting in a waiting room the other day and noticed something strange. Nobody was just doing nothing. Not one person.

There were six people in the room. One was scrolling Facebook. One was watching videos. One was typing furiously into their phone like they were negotiating a peace treaty. Another was listening to something through earbuds. Even the teenager who looked permanently exhausted was still staring at a screen. Nobody was just sitting there.

And it got me thinking. When did boredom become illegal?

When I was a kid, boredom was a normal part of life. You'd sit in the back seat of a car of mum and dad’s old Ford, staring out the window for three hours wondering if sheep ever got bored of looking at other sheep.

You'd lie on the lounge and stare at the ceiling.

You'd wander around the house annoying your mother until she eventually told you to go outside and find something to do. Outside… It is only a concept these days. Probably why they build new subdivisions with no yard and fake grass. You couldn’t even have a pet!

Now the second we experience three seconds of silence; we reach for our phones like they're emergency medical equipment. Waiting in line? Phone. At the supermarket? Phone. Sitting on the toilet? Definitely phone.

Some people can't even watch television anymore without simultaneously scrolling through another screen (Squeeze, I hope you are reading this…) Apparently one source of entertainment is no longer enough. We now require entertainment while we're being entertained.

We've become scared of our own thoughts. The moment our brains aren't occupied, we start looking for stimulation. News. Social media. Videos. Games. Shopping. Anything.

Everything is available instantly. Which sounds wonderful until you realise our brains never get a break. Boredom used to be where creativity lived. Some of the best ideas I've ever had arrived while I was doing absolutely nothing.

Just sitting there. Thinking. But now, we've filled every tiny gap in our day with noise.

Podcasts while driving. Music while walking. Videos while eating. Social media while watching television. Messages while pretending to work.

At some point we stopped leaving room for our brains to wander. And wandering is important. That's where reflection happens. That's where ideas happen. That’s where best sellers are written.

The Whole World Is Addicted To Outrage

I’ve been thinking on it, and I don’t think we’re addicted to social media. I think we’re addicted to outrage. Somewhere along the way, being mildly annoyed stopped being enough. We now require full emotional combustion before breakfast.

You can wake up in the morning, make a coffee, open your phone and within thirty seconds discover seventeen things you’re supposed to be pissed off about. A celebrity said something stupid. A politician said something stupid (when don’t they?)

Someone was offended by something stupid. Someone else was offended by the people who were offended by the stupid thing. Then another group got offended by them. And now everyone is pissed off. By 8:15am, you haven't even put undies on and you've already mentally fought three wars and told a politician to shut up.

The internet rewards outrage because it is engagement. Nobody shares a post that says, "Well, that's a reasonably balanced point of view." No. They share the one that makes them want to throw their phone through a window.

The algorithms know this. The system isn't broken. The system is working perfectly.

We're the problem.

I watch people online looking for reasons to be angry. Not finding them, they create them. A joke becomes an international incident. A typo becomes evidence of moral collapse. Someone accidentally uses the wrong word and suddenly they're being discussed like they've personally caused the fall of civilisation.

It's exhausting.…

The funny thing is most of us are living ordinary lives. We're walking the dog. Doing the washing. Trying to remember why we walked into the kitchen and standing for two minutes until you remember!

The world has always had problems. Serious ones.

Wars.

Poverty.

Crime.

Disease.

But now we're also expected to be emotionally invested in every minor disagreement occurring on every corner of the planet simultaneously.

No wonder everyone is tired.

We've become outrage collectors.

We gather grievances like other people collect stamps. "I can't believe this happened." "Wait until you hear about this." "Oh, that's nothing. Here's something even worse." The strangest part is how quickly yesterday's outrage disappears.

Remember the thing everyone was furious about three weeks ago? No? Exactly. Neither does anyone else.  Because we've already moved on to the next emergency.

The outrage machine must constantly be fed. Meanwhile, outside, the sun is still shining. People are walking their dogs. Kids are kicking footballs.

Most of life remains stubbornly normal. Maybe that's why outrage sells so well. Normal doesn't generate clicks.

Peace doesn't trend.

Contentment doesn't go viral.

But anger?

Anger is internet gold.

So these days, when the latest global catastrophe appears in my feed and complete strangers demand my immediate emotional participation, I sometimes do something radical.

I put my phone down.

I make a cup of tea.

I pat my dog Sharpie.

I ignore everyone.

And somehow, despite my lack of outrage, the world keeps turning.

Who knew?

Filmed, Photographed, Reviewed, Liked, Shared

Social media used to be a place where people shared photos of their lunch and argued about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

Now it’s a full-time psychological experiment.

Every second video starts with someone telling me they’ve discovered a secret doctor don’t want me to know. Apparently, doctors don’t want me to know anything. They don’t want me to know how to lose weight, grow hair, reverse ageing, improve my eyesight, clean my oven or communicate telepathically with my dog.

Then there are the influencers.

One woman tells me she became a millionaire by waking up at 4am and drinking lemon water. Another claims she retired at twenty-seven after discovering passive income. Meanwhile I’m fairly certain most of them are earning money by teaching other people how to earn money by teaching other people how to earn money.

It’s like a pyramid scheme wrapped in a ring light.

Everyone is an expert now.

A bloke who failed Year 10 is explaining geopolitics, not that that bothers me so much. Some people who have brains don't do well in the school system. A woman who bought a jade roller yesterday is suddenly a medical specialist. Someone who owns two rental properties is teaching financial literacy. And all of them are speaking with the confidence of people who personally invented electricity.

The advertisements are even worse. “This one simple trick melts fat while you sleep.” Fantastic. If that worked, Australia would be a nation of supermodels lying unconscious on couches.

Then there are the videos where someone cleans an already spotless house while dramatic music plays in the background. Look at me putting away three coffee mugs.

You’re not a domestic goddess, Karen. You’re loading a frigging dishwasher!

The strangest thing is how seriously everyone takes it. People have friendships, relationships and complete emotional breakdowns over comments made by strangers whose profile picture is a cartoon frog wearing sunglasses. We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that likes equal approval, followers' equal friendship and viral fame equals success.

It doesn’t. Most of it disappears tomorrow and nobody remembers a thing.

The internet promised to connect humanity. Instead, it turned us into unpaid actors in our own reality show, desperately refreshing our phones to see whether strangers approve of what we had for lunch.

The real world is still out there.

The sun still rises.

Coffee still tastes good.

Friends still laugh.

And none of them require a hashtag.

Sometimes I think the healthiest thing you can do is put your phone down, walk outside and remember that not everything needs to be filmed, photographed, reviewed, ranked, liked, shared and monetised.

Some things can simply happen.

What a radical idea. 

Why Social Media Turned Us Into Performers

To me, I don't see social media as making us happier, smarter, more connected. I think it turned us all into performers.

At some point we stopped living our lives and started presenting them.

Every meal is a photo opportunity. Every holiday is content. Every opinion is a carefully worded statement designed to attract applause from complete strangers who, if we're being honest, probably wouldn't lend us twenty dollars if our car broke down.

I watch people at concerts holding their phones in the air recording the entire show. Nobody is actually watching the concert. They're filming themselves proving they were there. It’s astounding. We've become our own marketing departments.

The internet has convinced us that every moment of our lives deserves an audience. Look at me. I write a blog. The irony is not lost on me; here I am writing a blog. But at least I'm honest about it. I don’t take a shot fifty time until my ass looks just right…

The difference between sharing your life and performing your life is subtle. One says, "Here's what happened." The other says, "Look at me having this happen."

Social media rewards the second one.

The happiest marriage suddenly becomes a public relations campaign. The family holiday becomes a travel brochure. The gym visit becomes a documentary series. The morning coffee somehow requires three photos, a motivational quote, and a hashtag.

And heaven help you if you simply eat breakfast and move on with your day.

I sometimes wonder how many people are actually enjoying their lives and how many are just producing content about enjoying their lives.

We are constantly documenting our existence as if a panel of judges is waiting to score us out of ten. The strange thing is that most of us know it's bullshit.

We know the perfect family photo was taken thirty seconds after someone threatened to leave. We know the inspirational influencer probably cried over a blocked sink this morning. We know the smiling holiday selfie doesn't show the argument over directions, the sunburn, or the stomach bug. (Please note: I had sunburn and a stomach bug while I was in Vietnam!)

Yet we keep performing. Perhaps because we're terrified that if we stop performing, nobody will notice us at all.

Meanwhile, the Squeeze remains completely immune to the disease. He doesn't care about followers, algorithms, engagement, or personal branding. His social media strategy appears to be non-existent. Honestly, he may be the healthiest person I know.

He's just living his life.

We like to put our phones away while out for dinner; and secretly wonder about the other couples there who both sit, romantically with their phones. I’d love to go up to them and say, ‘what’s so fucking important..?’ but of course never do…

Maybe that's the trick.

Maybe the best moments are the ones that never make it online.

The conversations nobody records.

The dinners nobody photographs.

The holidays nobody turns into a highlight reel.

The ordinary, messy, unfiltered bits of life that are actually worth living.

Of course, if you enjoyed reading this, please like, share, subscribe, leave a comment, ring the notification bell, sacrifice a small goat to the algorithm, and tell twelve friends. Apparently, that's how we're supposed to live now.

The Curious Case of Humanity's Obsession With Murder

There is something I need explained to me.

Why is everyone so obsessed with murder?

Not committing it, mind you. Just listening to it.

My son drives to Melbourne for work, which is a fair hike from Geelong. You'd think he'd fill the journey with music, comedy, or perhaps something educational about history, science or how to become a millionaire.

No. He listens to podcasts about serial killers. For two hours. One there. One back. Voluntarily. Apparently, this is normal.

In fact, judging by the popularity of true crime, it is more than normal. It is practically a national pastime. Millions of perfectly respectable people spend their evenings listening to detailed accounts of dismemberment while folding laundry.

If someone had suggested this twenty years ago, we'd have staged an intervention. Now it's entertainment.

You can barely open a streaming service without being offered a choice between "The Killer Next Door," "The Killer Across The Road," "The Killer's Cousin's Neighbor," and "The Killer Who Liked Gardening."

Everyone seems fascinated.

Meanwhile, I spend the entire time wondering why anyone would voluntarily fill their head with stories that ensure every strange noise in the house after dark sounds like the beginning of an investigation documentary.

Perhaps that's what I don't understand.

Life already provides plenty of things to worry about. Bills. Money. Trump destroying the world. Aging. Technology. The possibility of accidentally sending a text to the wrong person. Yet millions of people willingly add "grisly murder details" to the pile.

And they love it. They discuss cases over coffee. They binge-watch documentaries. They know the names of killers I've never heard of! And I've heard of some; watched television; the odd doco. But some of them can recite timelines, evidence, suspects and court proceedings with the enthusiasm usually reserved for football statistics.

It's extraordinary.

Society has somehow normalised being casually immersed in the darkest corners of humanity.

Maybe it's because we like mysteries. Maybe it's because we want to understand evil. Maybe it's because our brains enjoy solving puzzles. Or maybe we're all just a little bit weird.

Whatever the reason, I remain baffled.

I'll stick to music on long drives. My son can keep his serial killers.

Although if he suddenly starts taking notes, I may have questions…