Japanese art and design, the term yohaku no bi (余白の美 ) expresses the beauty of empty space. It’s employed across the arts from architecture, gardening, and the culinary arts to painting, literature, and cinema. It is powerful for many reasons: it gives form to the solid through a void; it can be used to direct the eye and offers the eye a place to rest; it holds infinite possibility; and allows space for the viewer to interact and engage with the piece, to write themselves into the artwork, making it their own.

 The beauty of empty space

Productivity says move, move, move. Boredom comes after “I’m not engaged” but before you’ve decided what might be more engaging. It’s uncomfortable because it’s uncertain. It’s unclear. But it’s also an opportunity to recalibrate life toward your values, or simply to rest and restore. Boredom is the pause in between breaths. It is not the exhale of production. It is not the inhale of inspiration. It is the space between.

Boredom is an in-between state

The right to be bored is:<ul><li>The right to not be productive. </li><li>The right to your own thoughts.</li><li>The right to change your mind. </li><li>The right to care less about optics and more about how your body feels.</li><li>The right to play. The right to have fun. </li><li>The right to rest.</li><li>The right to daydream. </li><li>The right to be still. The right to quiet.</li><li>The right to not know. To not have all the answers. The right to explore. </li><li>The right to imagine a more ideal world without lapsing into an escape, fantasy, or When / Then Thinking.</li><li>The right to no plans.</li><li>The right to no pics and it did happen.</li></ul>

The right to be bored

<figure><img alt="" src="https://miro.medium.com/max/500/1*8om-giwbhpV2xAVShySL1A" width="680" height="710"><figcaption dir="auto">Photo: dickcraft/Getty Images</figcaption></figure>In Japanese art and design, the term yohaku no bi (余白の美 ) expresses the beauty of empty space. It’s employed across the arts from architecture, gardening, and the culinary arts to painting, literature, and cinema. Yohaku — empty space — is powerful for many reasons: it gives form to the solid through a void; it can be used to direct the eye and offers the eye a place to rest; it holds infinite possibility; and allows space for the viewer to interact and engage with the piece, to write themselves into the artwork, making it their own. In short, an empty space in every possible way enriches and enhances the content and experience of a painting, garden, meal, architecture, movie, book, or design.Yet in our daily lives, our toxic ambition and fear of boredom suffocate us with content. Just as a piece of art needs yohaku, our lives need a little blankness. We need boredom.Boredom is an in-between state. Productivity says move, move, move. Boredom comes after “I’m not engaged” but before you’ve decided what might be more engaging. It’s uncomfortable because it’s uncertain. It’s unclear. But it’s also an opportunity to recalibrate life toward your values, or simply to rest and restore. Boredom is the pause in between breaths. It is not the exhale of production. It is not the inhale of inspiration. It is the space between. The yohaku of our life.“Only boring people get bored” is a shaming technique that does not allow us to be curious about our boredom. When we buy into that sentiment, we are more likely to engage in toxic ambition rather than question whether we are living a life connected to our values. We are more likely to reach for our phone to ameliorate the boredom or to get one email closer to Inbox Zero as we wait in line, and waste the opportunity to recalibrate. Information overload makes us stressed and anxious, and the sometimes necessary focus on the digital world not only overpowers our ability to notice the physical world around us, but it also leaves us disconnected from ourselves.When we seek numbing activities with the intention to suppress feelings — drinking, binge-watching, shopping, texting a codependent ex, checking email, checking social media, when we reach for our phones to fill this space in line, on the bus, in between meetings, walking down the street — we lose the opportunity in that moment to reassess, to recalibrate, to question life in alignment with our values. And we see how other people are living life according to how other people are living life: what they choose to share about how they’re surviving, how they shop, how they work, how they play, how they exercise, how they parent, how they watch TV, how they worry, how they care, how they live. This can be beneficial if we see ourselves reflected for the first time or if a pang of jealousy points us to a latent desire.But without the process of the liminal state (such that boredom allows) to assess, we may never connect with ourselves, thus feeling more and more exhausted, anxious, lost, stressed, disconnected. We have a right to boredom. And to use that boredom as a container to reconvene with ourselves, a way to hold space for creativity, imagination, possibility, restoration. Without boredom we cannot fully restore, cannot think, cannot imagine. And when we cannot fully restore, think, or imagine, the flames of our bright ambition burn us until we burnout.In the same way that “isolation” and “solitude” express two opposite characteristics of being alone, perhaps we need a new word for a yohaku boredom that expresses the positive contribution boredom can bring through space, rest, and possibility to our otherwise content laden lives.Short of that, we can begin with reclaiming our right to boredom.The right to be bored is<OL><LI>The right to not be productive. I don’t need to hustle, produce, deliver, crush it, werk bitch all the damn time.</LI><LI>The right to my own thoughts.</LI><LI>The right to change my mind. Grit is admirable. Commitment to the tune of “death do us part” is broken.</LI><LI>The right to care less about optics and more about how my body feels.</LI><LI>The right to play. The right to have fun. The right to take the time to do something that will not ladder up to my next career move.</LI><LI>The right to rest.</LI><LI>The right to daydream. The right to let my mind wander and wonder. To have an entire creative internal landscape all to myself. To start sentences with “What if…” and end them with “…why not?”</LI><LI>The right to be still. The right to quiet.</LI><LI>The right to not know. To not have all the answers. The right to explore. The right to search. The right to question. The right to take up space in the liminal.</LI><LI>The right to imagine a more ideal world without lapsing into an escape, fantasy, or When / Then Thinking.</LI><LI>The right to no plans.</LI><LI>The right to try things that might not be “worth my time” but seem interesting to my inner spark, nonetheless.</LI><LI>The right to no pics and it did happen.</LI><LI>The right to listen to and seek to understand what feeling bored is trying to tell me about my life, value, boundaries. To reconvene with me. Is this what I want? Really? Or am I doing this because it looks good on paper, what my parents want for me, what my partner expects of me, what my friends are striving for?</LI><LI>The right to blank space.</LI></OL>It may seem counterintuitive to embrace <a href="https://gking.harvard.edu/files/gking/files/covid-italy.pdf" rel="noopener nofollow" dir="ltr">boredom during a pandemic</a> that has left many with a dearth of variety and social contact, but if we can let go of the shame and fear around boredom, it can become a valuable element in our life and a way to leave toxic ambition behind.

In Japanese art and design, the term yohaku no bi (余白の美 ) expresses the beauty of empty space. It’s employed across the arts from architecture, gardening, and the culinary arts to painting…

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In Japanese art and design, the term yohaku no bi (余白の美 ) expresses the beauty of empty space. It’s e mployed across the arts from architecture, gardening, and the culinary arts to painting, literature, and cinema. Yohaku — empty space — is powerful for many reasons: it gives form to the solid through a void; it can be used to direct the eye and offers the eye a place to rest; it holds infinite possibility; and allows space for the viewer to interact and engage with the piece, to write themselves into the artwork, making it their own. In short, an empty space in every possible way enriches and enhances the content and experience of a painting, garden, meal, architecture, movie, book, or design.

Yet in our daily lives, our toxic ambition and fear of boredom suffocate us with content. Just as a piece of art needs yohaku , our lives need a little blankness. We need boredom.

Boredom is an in-between state. Productivity says move, move, move. Boredom comes after “I’m not engaged” but before you’ve decided what might be more engaging. It’s uncomfortable because it’s uncertain. It’s unclear. But it’s also an opportunity to recalibrate life toward your values, or simply to rest and restore. Boredom is the pause in between breaths. It is not the exhale of production. It is not the inhale of inspiration. It is the space between. The yohaku of our life.

“Only boring people get bored” is a shaming technique that does not allow us to be curious about our boredom. When we buy into that sentiment, we are more likely to engage in toxic ambition rather than question whether we are living a life connected to our values. We are more likely to reach for our phone to ameliorate the boredom or to get one email closer to Inbox Zero as we wait in line, and waste the opportunity to recalibrate. Information overload makes us stressed and anxious, and the sometimes necessary focus on the digital world not only overpowers our ability to notice the physical world around us, but it also leaves us disconnected from ourselves.

When we seek numbing activities with the intention to suppress feelings — drinking, binge-watching, shopping, texting a codependent ex, checking email, checking social media, when we reach for our phones to fill this space in line, on the bus, in between meetings, walking down the street — we lose the opportunity in that moment to reassess, to recalibrate, to question life in alignment with our values. And we see how other people are living life according to how other people are living life: what they choose to share about how they’re surviving, how they shop, how they work, how they play, how they exercise, how they parent, how they watch TV, how they worry, how they care, how they live. This can be beneficial if we see ourselves reflected for the first time or if a pang of jealousy points us to a latent desire.

But without the process of the liminal state (such that boredom allows) to assess, we may never connect with ourselves, thus feeling more and more exhausted, anxious, lost, stressed, disconnected. We have a right to boredom. And to use that boredom as a container to reconvene with ourselves, a way to hold space for creativity, imagination, possibility, restoration. Without boredom we cannot fully restore, cannot think, cannot imagine. And when we cannot fully restore, think, or imagine, the flames of our bright ambition burn us until we burnout.

In the same way that “isolation” and “solitude” express two opposite characteristics of being alone, perhaps we need a new word for ayohaku boredom that expresses the positive contribution boredom can bring through space, rest, and possibility to our otherwise content laden lives.

Short of that, we can begin with reclaiming our right to boredom.

The right to be bored is

<ol><li>The right to not be productive. I don’t need to hustle, produce, deliver, crush it, werk bitch all the damn time. </li><li>The right to my own thoughts. </li><li>The right to change my mind. Grit is admirable. Commitment to the tune of “death do us part” is broken. </li><li>The right to care less about optics and more about how my body feels. </li><li>The right to play. The right to have fun. The right to take the time to do something that will not ladder up to my next career move. </li><li>The right to rest. </li><li>The right to daydream. The right to let my mind wander and wonder. To have an entire creative internal landscape all to myself. To start sentences with “What if…” and end them with “…why not?” </li><li>The right to be still. The right to quiet. </li><li>The right to not know. To not have all the answers. The right to explore. The right to search. The right to question. The right to take up space in the liminal. </li><li>The right to imagine a more ideal world without lapsing into an escape, fantasy, or When / Then Thinking. </li><li>The right to no plans. </li><li>The right to try things that might not be “worth my time” but seem interesting to my inner spark, nonetheless. </li><li>The right to no pics and it did happen. </li><li>The right to listen to and seek to understand what feeling bored is trying to tell me about my life, value, boundaries. To reconvene with me. Is this what I want? Really? Or am I doing this because it looks good on paper, what my parents want for me, what my partner expects of me, what my friends are striving for? </li><li>The right to blank space. </li> </ol>

It may seem counterintuitive to embrace <a href="https://gking.harvard.edu/files/gking/files/covid-italy.pdf">boredom during a pandemic </a>that has left many with a dearth of variety and social contact, but if we can let go of the shame and fear around boredom, it can become a valuable element in our life and a way to leave toxic ambition behind.

How to Reclaim Your Right to Be Bored

The beauty of empty space

Boredom is an in-between state

The right to be bored

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