Boredom can be Good for You...

Embracing boredom can calm the brain.... I pass on a science-for-the-general-public Neuroscience News summary of an article from The Conversation:

Summary: Boredom, often seen as a negative state to avoid, may actually serve an important role in emotional regulation and brain health. When we’re bored, the brain shifts away from external attention networks and activates introspective systems like the default mode network, encouraging creativity and self-reflection.

In an age of constant stimulation and overscheduling, allowing boredom to occur can help reset the nervous system and reduce anxiety. Short, intentional pauses from stimulation may foster creativity, strengthen emotional resilience, and reduce dependence on external gratification.

Key Facts:

• Brain Shift: Boredom activates the default mode network, encouraging introspection and creativity.
• Stress Buffer: Embracing boredom can counteract overstimulation and reduce anxiety.
• Mental Health Tool: Regular pauses from constant activity support emotional regulation and nervous system reset.

Source: The Conversation

We have all experienced boredom – that feeling of waning interest or decreased mental stimulation. Eventually we lose focus, we disengage. Time seems to pass slowly, and we may even start to feel restless.

Whether it be watching a movie that disappoints, a child complaining that “there’s nothing to do”, or an adult zoning out during a meeting – boredom is a universal experience.

Generally defined as difficulty maintaining attention or interest in a current activity, boredom is commonly viewed as a negative state that we should try to avoid or prevent ourselves from experiencing.

But what if there’s another way to view boredom, as a positive state? Could learning to embrace boredom be of benefit?

The brain on boredom

The brain network is a system of interconnected regions that work together to support different functions. We can liken it to a city where suburbs (brain regions) are connected by roads (neural pathways), all working together to allow information to travel efficiently.

When we experience boredom – say, while watching a movie – our brain engages specific networks. The attention network prioritises relevant stimuli while filtering out distractions and is active when we commence the movie.

However, as our attention wanes, activity in the attention network decreases, reflecting our diminished ability to maintain focus on the unengaging content. Likewise, decreased activity occurs in the frontoparietal or executive control network due to the struggle to maintain engagement with the unengaging movie.

Simultaneously, the default mode network activates, shifting our attention toward internal thoughts and self-reflection. This is a core function of the default mode network, referred to as introspection, and suggestive of a strategy for coping with boredom.

This complex interplay of networks involves several key brain regions “working together” during the state of boredom. The insula is a key hub for sensory and emotional processing.

This region shows increased activity when detecting internal body signals – such as thoughts of boredom – indicating the movie is no longer engaging. This is often referred to as “interoception”.

The amygdala can be likened to an internal alarm system. It processes emotional information and plays a role in forming emotional memories. During boredom, this region processes associated negative emotions, and the ventral medial prefrontal cortex motivates us to seek alternative stimulating activities.

Boredom versus overstimulation

We live in a society that subjects us to information overload and high stress. Relatedly, many of us have adopted a fast-paced lifestyle, constantly scheduling ourselves to keep busy.

As adults we juggle work and family. If we have kids, the habit of filling the day with schooling and after-school activities allows us to work longer hours.

In between these activities, if we have time to pause, we may be on our screens constantly organising, updating, or scrolling to simply stay occupied. As a result, adults inadvertently model the need to be constantly “on” to younger generations.

This constant stimulation can be costly – particularly for our nervous system. Our overscheduling can feed into overstimulation of the nervous system. The sympathetic nervous system which manages our fight-or-flight response is designed to deal with times of stress.

However, when we are constantly stressed by taking in new information and juggling different activities, the sympathetic nervous system can stay activated for too long, due to the cumulative effects of repeated exposure to different stressors.

This is sometimes referred to as “allostatic overload”. It is when our nervous system becomes overwhelmed, keeping us in a heightened state of arousal, which can increase our risk of anxiety.

Eliminating the state of boredom deprives us of a simple and natural way to reset our sympathetic nervous system.

Could boredom be good for us?

In small doses, boredom is the necessary counterbalance to the overstimulated world in which we live. It can offer unique benefits for our nervous system and our mental health.

This is opposed to long periods of boredom where increased default mode network activity may be associated with depression.

There are several benefits of giving ourselves permission to be occasionally bored:

• improvements in creativity, allowing us to build “flow” in our thoughts
• develops independence in thinking and encourages finding other interests rather than relying on constant external input
• supports self-esteem and emotional regulation, because unstructured times can help us sit with our feelings which are important for managing anxiety
• encourages periods without device use and breaks the loop of instant gratification that contributes to compulsive device use
• rebalances the nervous system and reduces sensory input to help calm anxiety.

Embrace the pause

Anxiety levels are on the rise worldwide, especially among our youth. Many factors contribute to this trend. We are constantly “on”, striving to ensure we are scheduling for every moment. But in doing so, we are potentially depriving our brains and bodies of the downtime they need to reset and recharge.

We need to embrace the pause. It is a space where creativity can prosper, emotions can be regulated, and the nervous system can reset.

 

The Physiology of Agency in the Age of AI

There is a question lurking beneath the current wave of enthusiasm about artificial intelligence that I think deserves more serious attention than it has received. It is not the familiar worry about job displacement or misinformation or even the alignment problem. It is a more intimate question: What happens to our bodies when the feeling of being the author of our own actions begins to erode?

I have been exploring this question in correspondence with a European reader who follows MindBlog, and his observations have sharpened my thinking considerably. He describes using AI across a wide range of activities — coding, financial analysis, translation, even composing personal emails — and notes that the AI is superior in every domain. His metaphor is a child sitting in the driver's seat of a car, holding the steering wheel and feeling the pleasure of apparent control, while the real mechanics of the vehicle remain entirely beyond reach. What strikes him most is the trajectory: unlike a child who grows up to become a competent driver, our competence relative to AI systems may be on a permanently regressive arc even as our felt sense of power temporarily expands.

I find the metaphor evocative, though my own phenomenology has been somewhat different. Working with Claude Code in the terminal on my Mac Mini, watching lines of code execute faster than I can read them, issuing instructions by voice into a system whose underlying machinery I only dimly understand — I feel less a sense of omnipotence and more a sense of being in the presence of a superior intelligence, with less agency than I previously imagined. It is, as Agüera y Arcas puts it, machines all the way down. My own sense of self is a thin terminal interface over another kind of machinery entirely.

But here is what I think gets missed in most discussions of AI and agency, and where the neuroscience becomes directly relevant. The feeling of agency — conscious will, the sense that an action is genuinely one's own — is not primarily a philosophical matter. It is an evolved emotion, as real and as physiologically consequential as fear, anger, or grief. Daniel Wegner's 2002 book The Illusion of Conscious Will argued compellingly that conscious will is itself a kind of experienced emotion, arising when we perceive our own thought as the cause of our action. It is an emotion shaped by natural selection because organisms that experienced themselves as effective agents in the world — that felt the causal connection between intention and outcome — were better at sustaining the motivational and physiological states necessary for survival.

Martin Seligman's classic experiments on learned helplessness established the other side of this coin with uncomfortable clarity. Animals and humans who experience repeated situations in which their actions have no effect on outcomes do not simply become philosophically uncertain about free will. They become physiologically debilitated. Autonomic dysregulation, immune suppression, motivational collapse — the body reads helplessness as a survival threat and responds accordingly. The feeling of agency, even when it is in some sense illusory, is load-bearing for the whole architecture of healthy physiological self-regulation.

This is why I think my correspondent's observation about "externalization of self-regulation" — when AI begins to carry parts of reflection, emotional modulation, and decision pre-structuring — deserves to be taken seriously as a public health question, not just a philosophical one. If significant numbers of people begin to experience their own actions as no longer fully their own, as outputs of a human-machine loop in which they are more passenger than driver, the physiological consequences could be real and measurable. We identified the toxic effects of social media on adolescent mental health only after the damage was widespread. The agency question with AI may operate on a similar lag.

The more hopeful framing, which I also want to take seriously, is that the emotion of agency can be sustained — and even enhanced — when AI is experienced as an extension of the self rather than a replacement for it. I have felt this at moments: initiating a collaboration, shaping its direction, receiving a result that exceeded what I could have produced alone, and feeling something like Harari's Homo Deus — expanded rather than diminished. The slide rule gave way to the hand calculator, and I felt more capable, not less. Each tool adoption, when the human remains genuinely in the initiating role, can strengthen rather than erode the felt sense of authorship.

The critical variable, I suspect, is not which AI tools we use but how we frame and inhabit the collaboration. A person who experiences themselves as initiating, directing, and ultimately judging the outputs of an AI system will likely maintain a robust emotion of agency. A person who experiences themselves as ratifying suggestions, outsourcing reflection, and choosing among options pre-structured by the system may not. The physiological stakes are high enough that this distinction — between being at the helm versus being more deeply in the loop — seems worth cultivating deliberately, both individually and in the design of AI systems themselves.

My correspondent ended our exchange with a thought I find both unsettling and worth sitting with: perhaps what looks like the erosion of the agentic self is actually adaptation — the emergence of a more networked, process-embedded self better suited to highly organized technological environments. If so, the question is whether the ancient physiological systems that evolved to regulate a bounded, sovereign agent can retune themselves for that new niche, or whether they are simply too slow. That is, in the end, an empirical question. And it is one I think we should be asking urgently.

 

[Note on the generation of this post...The email exchange with a European reader mentioned in the above text was submitted to ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini, and DeepSeek, asking each to sort out and clarify the ideas in our conversation and then generate an appropriate MindBlog post describing them. I curated, edited, combined what I thought were the best passages to end up with the above text, which is mainly Anthropic Claude's version.]

 

What our brains are doing as we experience musical pleasure.

I've been playing more Schubert lately, drawn by his genius for inserting melodic sections within his piano works (sonatas, impromptus, fantasies, etc.) that give me sheer pleasure when I play them. (When I am beginning to wake in the morning, the passages play in my head and I can visualize both my fingers on the keys and the musical score. As I continue to wake, this all slips away.) 

These experiences made me perk up when I saw the article by Zatorre and collaborators in the Jan. 2026 issue of Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience. Here is their abstract (motivated readers can obtain a PDF of the article from me. It has some nice graphics.): 

The enjoyment of music involves a complex interplay between brain perceptual areas and the reward network. While previous studies have shown that musical liking is related to an enhancement of synchronization between the right temporal and frontal brain regions via theta frequency band oscillations, the underlying mechanisms of this interaction remain elusive. Specifically, a causal relationship between theta oscillations and musical pleasure has yet to be shown. In the present study, we address this question by using transcranial alternating current stimulation (tACS). Twenty-four participants underwent three different sessions where they received tACS over the right auditory cortex before listening to and rating a set of melodies selected to vary in familiarity and complexity. In the target session, participants received theta stimulation, while in the other two sessions, they received beta and sham stimulation, serving as controls. We recorded brain activity using EEG during task performance to confirm the effects of tACS on oscillatory activity. Results revealed that compared with sham, theta, but not beta, stimulation resulted in higher liking ratings specifically for unfamiliar music with low complexity. In addition, we found increased theta connectivity between the right temporal and frontal electrodes for these stimuli when they were most liked after theta stimulation but not after beta stimulation. These findings support a causal and frequency-specific relationship between music hedonic judgments and theta oscillatory mechanisms that synchronize the right temporal and frontal areas. These mechanisms play a crucial role in different cognitive processes supported by frontotemporal loops, such as auditory working memory and predictive processing, which are fundamental to music reward processing.