Where Boredom Blooms

Because maybe wonder starts when the scrolling stops.

It was 5:30 p.m. on Thursday, January 30th 2025, when I stepped out of my office building into the cold, dark San Francisco night, with no idea how I’d spend the next interminable sixty minutes.

It all started half an hour earlier, when my eyes, bloodshot from eight hours of staring at a screen, finally gave out. Just work a little longer, come on, Simona. It’s only one and a half hours hours till improv. But I couldn’t. I was done sitting in that black ergonomic chair I’d started to hate, a mold for my butt, like Homer Simpson and his butt-shaped couch.

Wait—I didn’t have to work. I could listen to the latest How to Be the Best Version of Yourself or How to Not Waste Time podcast. That was a good use of time, right? But the thought made me sick. I didn’t want to hear from anyone about all the things they’d figured out in life, reminded, yet again, of all the things I still wasn’t doing. Good for them, but no thanks.

I could endlessly scroll Instagram or TikTok and let the influencers call me out—at 36, I should be getting Botox injections, spending my Sundays meal-prepping, and drinking celery juice at 5 a.m. instead of coffee. You know what? I like my 7:30 a.m. coffee.

In that moment, I realized that podcasts and social media might live in the same circle of hell.

Humans. I needed humans. I glanced at the only colleague sitting next to me, busy typing away with such intensity it looked like his life depended on it. The keyboard was about to break in half, right before he threw out a sigh and an “I can’t deal with this” rant.

Did I have the stamina to engage with such high-intensity energy? Not really. Plus, I already knew how it would go—we’d mostly talk about work. Another option crossed off the list.

Too much thinking.

The stale office air was suffocating, the bright white lights blinding, a sense of heaviness pressing down on my chest. I stood up from that damn prison of a chair, left the small office and its harsh lights behind, and stepped outside.

Suddenly, I was standing at the corner of Mission and 2nd without a plan. Can you believe I didn’t have an agenda? I had one hour of pure, unplanned time with myself.

And that was fucking terrifying.

I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the cold air hit my face and numb my bare fingers until they started to hurt.

I needed a place to hang out, to get warm, to not look so lost. But I wasn’t hungry. Sure, I could’ve shoved something down my throat just to kill time, but I’ve done that before, and it never made me feel better.

Drinking. Of course, I could sit at a bar sipping sparkling wine like a boss lady who knew exactly how to enjoy time with herself. But the reality was, I didn’t want to do that either. My body didn’t want the calories, the sugar, or the buzz.

Did you know bars don’t have hot beverages like tea? If you want something non-alcoholic, light, and sugar-free, you can get water. Maybe, if you’re lucky, an iced sparkling water. Otherwise, it’s Coke—obviously, American bars have soda—or a mocktail, which is basically a sugar bomb. And with all coffee shops closing at 5 p.m. in downtown San Francisco, that option was gone too.

Why was this so hard? What was wrong with me?

A screaming individual crossing the road snapped me out of my thoughts, and I automatically started moving in the opposite direction. That’s why people don’t go for walks downtown, you never know who’ll yell at you. My mind flashed back to that time a homeless person threw a bowl of spaghetti at me.

The opposite direction led me toward Salesforce Park, a beautiful and safe elevated urban park just two minutes from where I was. I stepped off the elevator and began looping around the white-paved path. At least I could hit ten thousand steps and call that hour a success.

One step after the other, one loop after the other, and suddenly, I noticed the cute succulents lining the side of the path, the giant cactus I wished I could take home, the little fountains now glowing under the lights. Everything was so quiet, so calm, and my pace slowed—slowly, naturally.

I took a deep breath, letting the crisp, cold air, tinged with the scent of weed, fill my lungs, and I looked up at the sky.

Did the sky shift from indigo to a deeper blue as I walked?

When was the last time I paid attention to the sky’s color?

Something shifted in that moment, and I was surrounded by a sense of awareness and wholeness—mind, body, and soul. I was present, and the world opened up. All the small things felt new and beautiful.

The skyscrapers towered above, the office lights I hated so much now glowing like fireflies against the darkening sky. I took a photo, my fingers so cold I could barely press the side button of my iPhone.

I loved noticing how my left hand felt colder than my right, how the sharp, grounding sensation tied me to that winter moment.

Having an agenda wasn’t a priority anymore. The influencers and their life-changing advice didn’t matter. It was just me, the cold air, and a beautiful sense of peace.

I left the Salesforce Park and started walking down 1st Street toward Market Street, my head up, no headphones, no iPhone, no distractions.

As I passed the Salesforce Tower, the tallest building in San Francisco, a group of corporate bros came out, with only one woman among them. She wore a gorgeous ivory wool dress, the skirt ending at her ankles, a pair of brown suede boots peeking out, matching her brown jacket. She looked so fashionable, so classy, and beamed while talking to one of her colleagues. I loved that for her. The bros didn’t fit the part, wearing their usual kinda-dirty pants, corporate swag jackets, and backpacks. I smiled, realizing that my Patagonia jacket and backpack put me squarely in the bros’ corner.

I left them behind as I turned right onto Market Street and started walking toward the Ferry Building. A fast electric bike zipped past me on the sidewalk, the rider belting out a Stevie Wonder song.

A group of high-schoolers crossed the road right next to me, laughing and holding their skateboards, probably talking about their latest mischief.

Was that little flower cart new? I wondered, passing a closed shop that looked like a metal container in the middle of the sidewalk. In Italy, we have similar metal kiosks on the sidewalks, called cartolerie, usually selling newspapers, crosswords, and candies. But this one was filled with plants, all crammed into the tiny space.

I took a photo through the little window built into the metal structure and made a mental note to come back. The interior glowed with a soft pink light, illuminating the lush greenery inside in a romantic way.

My aimless stroll brought me to a paddle court right in the heart of the Embarcadero Plaza. Wait, what? I thought paddle hadn’t made it to America, knowing that pickleball reigned supreme in the latest racket sport craze.

An old man stood outside the court, hands behind his back, intently watching the match and keeping score. It’s funny how old men are obsessed with keeping scores and watching construction sites. I took another photo and stood next to him. Both of us stared at the match in silence.

After what felt like five minutes of watching players swing rackets and sweat, I turned, smiled at my old companion in acknowledgment, and he nodded back. I went on my way, now heading toward the metro station—BART, as it’s called in San Francisco.

Right at the entrance of the Embarcadero BART station, I noticed a beautiful analog petrol-green clock shaped like a streetlamp. Had this always been there? It was showing the wrong time, ten minutes ahead of the digital one. I smiled, thinking about a time when no one had perfect timekeeping, and I’d definitely been late to appointments or class because a clock wasn’t set right.

It had been sixty minutes, time was up.

The most terrifying, unplanned sixty minutes had transformed into the most beautiful experience I’d had in a while. A moment when I allowed myself to leave all the surplus behind, the constant dopamine injections, the scrolling, the societal constructs, and was left with myself in a way that wasn’t about self-improvement or aimless mental wandering.

It was a connection to the present moment, where I let my body guide me to take in the wonder of the world around me.

I immediately, instinctively, deleted Instagram, TikTok, LinkedIn, and all the other dopamine-inducing apps from my phone. They should stay where they belong, deep down in the bottom circle of hell.

How many more small moments of wonder could fill my days if I just be? If I had the courage to embrace boredom? I don’t know. But what I do know is that I want to feel this peace again, this sense of unity with my whole self.

Maybe that experience was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence. Maybe it won’t happen again for another ten years. But I want to acknowledge the importance of that aha moment that shook something in my soul—a turning point, perhaps. A moment of awareness amidst the whirlwinds of anxiety that sometimes fills my days.

And if the trigger for wonder is not having things planned, being okay with potential boredom, then I want more of that. More unplanned hours, more quiet walks, more chances to let the world surprise me.

Because maybe, sometimes, the most extraordinary moments come from the most ordinary pauses.

With eyes full of wonder,

Simona